Communication, Dissemination, Obfuscation
by Mardy Lass
Summary: Enterprise answers a distress call and as usual, the crew get more than they bargained for. Archer finds something shiny, Trip finds not everything dreamt is imagined, and T'Pol finds something else. My only ST fic. Trip/T'Pol, very AU re 4th season.
1. Chapter 1

**Communication, Dissemination, Obfuscation**

_My first and only ST fic of any kind. Definitely Trip/T'Pol friendly. A little AU in places for liberties taken._

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**One**

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Trip popped an eye open, assessing the damage. The tiny clock on the far desk broadcast diminutive figures through the darkness, informing him it was fast approaching five a.m.

He pulled his dangling arm from over the side of the bunk and rolled onto his back. He dismissed the whimsical fantasies of stolen moments with a certain fellow officer, the misty slivers of wishful thinking that crept up on him more and more frequently these days. And always more alluring when he was trapped in that magical place between sleeping and waking, where everything was possible and nothing was frowned upon.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and lifted his head from the pillow, slapping it back down and pushing it forcefully into the softness, trying to pretend there was a possibility of going back to sleep.

His eyes sank closed and he sighed. He listened to the steady thrumming of the warp engines, letting the monotonous sound comfort him and dismiss his flighty thoughts as inappropriate for wakened officers. He concentrated, doing his best to push all To Do Lists, worries and nagging wishes out of his head, to simply allow himself to sleep.

He was failing miserably. He shifted irritably onto his right side, stretching out and yawning. Another slap of his head into the pillow to persuade it to magically make him drop off later, and he realised he was about to go the next three hours before his shift started staring at the inside of his eyelids.

Something mellow, curious, stealthy swept over him and he lifted his head ever so slightly from the pillow. It was a strange, relaxing kind of fog, almost as if he were watching himself try to sleep and letting himself be amused at how he worked himself up over trying not to work himself up. He felt his head settle back down gradually and found all of his muscles releasing their tension as if it were coolant gas from a broken valve. He just went with it, willing to get another few hours' sleep at any cost.

His lulled brain flickered with images; strong, small hands on his shoulder, a glimpse of blue silk.

His eyes snapped open. All he saw was the wall adjoining his bed.

He frowned, gave a huff of which an Aldebarren cave bear would have been proud, and closed his eyes again.

And there she was, her delicate fingers pinching lightly, making his tensions ease.

_Fine_, he thought, his patience at a very neat end, _if it helps me sleep, where's the harm in a little innocent wishful thinkin'?_

Her hands smoothed down his left, exposed arm, manipulating in that calm, practised way of neuropressure. He felt his frown inch into a small, private smile. The fingers began to work in small circles, less commanding and more teasing. One hand disappeared, the remaining one sliding up to his tricep. He twitched slightly as it stroked the edge, tickling the fine hairs rather playfully. Suddenly the blissful feeling of floating halfway between waking and dreaming suited his mood and the needs of his subconscious very well.

The missing hand touched at the top of his ear gently, gliding down the edge to the lobe. Automatically, his little smile widened and he actually shivered slightly in amusement or enjoyment, he didn't care which.

Suddenly he smelt the hot, exotic scent of a spice he had only encountered once before. His dreamy smile froze in confusion before something equally hot and infused with tempting desert spices touched at his ear. Definitely soft and wet, it ran down the edge before something harder gripped the lobe with a fierce tenderness.

_Wait - what?_

His eyes crashed open. He shot upright on his bunk. He scrabbled round, his back pressed against the wall, hearing himself panting in… fright? Panic? Shock? Something… else?

He hurried on his hands and knees to the end of his bunk, reaching out and slapping the button for the lights. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden brightness before confirming he was alone in his quarters.

"I'll be damned," he grumped on a sigh. He pushed both hands over his face, wiping away the feelings as best he could. "Just me…"

_But I felt her_, his mind interrupted with petulance. _She touched me. I smelt her. How can you smell someone who's not here?_

The comm beeped suddenly.

"This is Archer," came the clipped sounds of the captain. "We have a situation. All senior officers report to the bridge."

Trip made a strangled sound in his throat before letting himself fall flat on the bunk in exasperation.

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* * *

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T'Pol sat at her desk, her back ramrod straight, her blue pyjamas enough to keep her warm on a starship with such a controlled environment. She paused, cleared her mind, and looked back at her terminal and the log entry therein. She allowed herself to lean back in her chair slightly, re-reading it patiently.

'_As a Vulcan, today I was a success. While I sometimes have trouble concentrating my mind and focusing on the suppression of certain emotions, I judge I have performed with satisfaction during today's work cycle. I deem it useful to record my progress here, to remind myself that I am most capable of that which Vulcans sometimes take for granted - until they are forced to work with humans. Evidence as follows:_

_'Times I suppressed the urge to angrily remonstrate Crewman Joiner for repeatedly stating the obvious: three._

_'Times I suppressed the urge to break the isolitic converter remote for refusing to work in my hands: one._

_'Times I suppressed the urge to simply render the garrulous crewman in sickbay unconscious with only my thumb and finger: two._

_'Times I suppressed the desire to touch Commander Tucker's smile while working with him in Engineering: sixty-eight._

_'Times I suppressed the feeling of pride at the incredible achievement at that last feat: two._

_'I am driven to question why I appreciate the Commander's smile and generally sunny attitude while he works, since it is not needed and therefore a waste of energy to regale me with what he presumes to be funny anecdotes, or attempts to induce the first 'Vulcan smile'. I have come up with a tentative hypothesis: his smile - were I human I would call it 'engaging' - is everything I cannot be._

_'I appreciate that he misunderstands my silence at his apparently amusing jibes and his catalogue of 'knock-knock jokes'. I understand that he finds my logical summations of his lack of results versus amount of effort expended exasperating. However, I believe he has a perverse enjoyment of our verbal conflicts, and on several occasions he has surprised me by endeavouring to counter my arguments with a satisfactory attempt at logic. It is these moments I need to suppress the strongest emotions, as I find his efforts to 'amuse me' most agreeable. When he imparts information he judges to be secretive, the cunning expression in his eyes--_'

She leaned forward and tabbed the controls, deleting the last three words. She considered for a moment before pressing a few keys.

'-- _the cunning expression his face displays is a more than satisfactory remuneration for working such long hours in Engineering. While I have never directly acceded this fact, when he performs his_ 'I am correct and we both acknowledge that you are aware of it' _manoeuvre - namely, putting his hands on his hips, his tongue in his cheek and letting his eyes twinkle like_--'

She leaned forward again, once more removing the last few words, chiding herself for her slip. She typed in replacement words and sat back, reading on.

'--_letting his eyes communicate his desire for mischief, it can be extremely hard not to acknowledge the impulse to surprise him with a facial expression and what he would no doubt term my own 'streak of devilment'. I shock myself with these truths, but I must record them and also my achievement in suppressing all I feel when working by his side. That is my victory today, that is my exemplary performance as a Vulcan; I am satisfied with my strength today_.'

She tilted her head, considered the log in its entirety, and then nodded to herself. She tabbed the 'save and store' function, encrypted it with her personal code, and got up from the chair.

She turned and blew out the three candles, crossing in the welcome darkness to her bunk and sliding on. She pulled the single sheet over her and stretched out on her back, taking a deep breath. She let it out slowly, calming her heart rate and feeling herself relax into sleep.

Images appeared, broken and scattered, in a way that was a little disquieting for a Vulcan used to order. Blue eyes over a wide, teasing smile, a blue uniform with a red command stripe: they floated past, tugging at her memories, dancing just enough out of reach to irritate her.

She opened her eyes to the ceiling of her cabin, knowing she had become tense. She began a slow rhythm to her breathing, aiding her relaxation again.

Another image; a dirty, used hand holding her arm to steady her, the familiar sensation of electric as skin, human skin driven by red blood, had slid over her own. She shivered slightly, enjoying the feel of the Starfleet uniform that squeezed past her in the Mess Hall, the not entirely disagreeable scent of a male human who had been working with grease and metal for an entire shift, the feeling of safety in the company of a human prepared to try and understand more than just his warp engines.

The images, the feelings, turned to cargo bays and Ferengi, regulation blue Starfleet underwear, the Mess Hall and conversation, regulation blue Starfleet underwear, mediation and neuropressure, regulation blue Starfleet underwear, candles and late night engineering work, regulation blue Starfleet underwear, regulation blue Starfleet underwear, regulation blue Starfleet underwear - _regulation blue Starfleet underwear_--

Her eyes sprang open and she stared at the ceiling as if it owed her a new meditation cushion.

She pushed all her thoughts aside, prepared to try again. She regulated her breathing, chastised her temperature and heart rate for acting out of the norm, and settled down again. She slowly drifted off into a light, comfortable sleep, her hands slipping from over her chest to her sides.

New images and sensations came; irritability, the desperation to get to sleep before the alarm clock sounded, the irony of working herself up over trying not to work herself up, the draw of soft, lulling thoughts of another… She saw an arm, a muscular, warm limb, and put her hands to it gently. She began to knead the tension from it in small circles, wanting, desiring, to drain away all the troubles. Her fingers felt the pressure bleed away from the muscles beneath her touch and she felt satisfaction in her technique. She let her right hand wander, daring to set it to the top edge of the rounded ear.

_What is it about a rounded ear?_ she let herself muse. _Is it because I have so seldom touched one? A novelty?_

Her fingers slid down the edge, amused and rewarded by the touch, by the knowledge it was making the owner smile. She bent down slowly, regarding the face turned away from her, judging the human expression to be one of comfort and amusement. She paused before a fleeting memory, a night in her quarters 'experimenting' with a certain male human, came to mind. He had touched her ears so gently, had done something she had never realised would have set fire to her blood.

She leaned her face down, wanting to try it for herself. Would he feel the same fire? Would it ignite the same passion in her when she performed it on someone else?

_There is only one way to find out._

She leaned down to the side of his face, her acute Vulcan sense of smell picking up the soap from four hours ago, the shampoo washed out of his hair that morning, the cotton taint to his skin from his Starfleet uniform. Again the image of regulation blue Starfleet underwear came to mind but she blotted out all thoughts.

_The experiment must be objective_, she reasoned.

She bent closer and studied the round ear, her nose so close as to almost touch it. She felt her mouth open, felt her tongue slide down and over the human skin keenly.

She processed her own reactions calmly, noting with some intrigue that while it did not quite elicit the same response as his experiment on her own ear, the reaction it provoked in him did indeed make the whole process worthwhile. She ran her tongue down the hot, pinkish skin, smelling the difference in the minute wisp of sweat and the male chemicals that came with it. She restrained herself from rolling him toward her on his back and finding other things against which to apply her tongue. Instead she forced herself to simply let her teeth play with the earlobe, firmly but appreciatively.

A spark flared in her head. She gasped in surprise and _feeling_, rising from his face and scuttling back slightly. She realised he was gone; she was alone, on her back, and watching the ceiling of her bunk, her breath coming in fast, heavy pulls and her pulse unacceptably rapid for a sleeping Vulcan.

She sat up cautiously, regarding her quarters with a critical eye. She calmed herself, inspected her surroundings, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

This required meditation and inflection.

What it got was summarily interrupted, as the comm beeped at her rather rudely, considering she had a very, _very_ heavy weight on her mind.

"This is Archer," said the grumpy voice. "We have a situation. All senior officers report to the bridge."

T'Pol gave her room one last look before simply shucking her pyjamas and pulling on a clean uniform. She picked up a PADD she had been meaning to return to the bridge in the morning, and stepped out of her room.

Her cleansing meditation would have to wait.

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* * *

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As Trip stepped out of the turbolift and onto the bridge he heard someone talking over the comm, but the eyes of five officers were looking at him, as if surprised. Four pairs of eyes softened in solidarity caused by understanding how unwelcome the call to the bridge had been in the wee hours.

One pair of large hazel eyes appraised him with customary dispassion. His own gaze met all but the last as he heard the Captain talking.

"Hoshi - pause it for a second." Archer turned and looked at Trip, apparently unamused.

Trip straightened unconsciously, trying to work out how everyone else had arrived before him.

"Good of you to join us," the Captain grumped.

Trip cleared his throat quietly and nodded his acknowledgement of the rebuke. He noticed Hoshi's sympathetic face turned his way and wondered how tired he actually looked.

"Hoshi," the captain asked briskly, his tone a blatant demonstration of just how much he had not enjoyed being pulled out of his own bed. "Play the message again from the beginning, please."

"Aye, Captain." She swung her chair back to her console and pressed buttons.

A female voice echoed round the bridge, sounding harried and scared.

"_Please - if there's anyone out there that can hear this, hear me, please find us. We're drifting, we have no power. I think life support will give us four more days, then we give ourselves over to the Prophets. We have no engines and no engineer anyway. Please - anyone - please find us. We need help._"

The message stopped abruptly. The bridge was quiet for a long moment.

Finally Archer turned and looked at his communications officer. "Can you tell where it's coming from?"

"I can, sir… It's a distress beacon," she havered. "Yes - definitely a beacon." She pressed buttons. "It's only a day old, sir."

"Can you tell how far away we are?"

"It's fifteen hundred AUs, sir," she sighed with worry. "We're barely picking it up."

"Travis - at warp three, how long would it take to get there?" Archer asked quickly.

"Warp three…" He pressed buttons and nodded. "Eight hours, sir."

"Good. We can hope it's still close to whatever ship sent it out." He turned now to his chief engineer, who was still wearing an expression that suggested he was worrying the bridge carpet might jump up and bite him. "Trip - think you can get your team ready to work on whatever we find at the other end?"

Trip looked up quickly and waved helpless hands out wide. "We'll be standing by. Any idea what species that voice is? Might give us a head start with researchin' engines and the like."

Archer turned and looked at his communications officer again. "Hoshi?"

"The message came through the translator, but…" She leaned over her console, pressing and reading. "Running a match with the Vulcan database now, sir. And… it's Bajoran, sir."

"Bajoran?" he queried.

His science officer looked up from her station. "Vulcans have encountered them before, Captain. According to the database, they are an enlightened, peaceful race. I have little doubt they are simply in distress. Obfuscation is not part of their nature."

Archer nodded. "Sounds good." He sat down in his large chair, nodding to himself. "Travis, set a course for that beacon. Warp three. I want to get to it, and them, in plenty of time before their life support fails."

"Aye sir," Travis nodded grimly.

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	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

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T'Pol picked up a data PADD and stood. "Captain, I believe I have information beneficial to Commander Tucker's research."

"Then get down there and make him pay attention long enough to read it," Archer allowed with a ghost of a smile. The Vulcan nodded, either ignoring or missing his attempt at humour. He sighed slightly as she disappeared into the lift, then turned himself to look at the viewer.

It was silent for a moment. Then he looked over at Hoshi. "Ensign - have you had a look at the Vulcan database for the Bajoran language?"

Hoshi looked over, slightly edgy. "I have, sir. It's… complicated."

"How so?"

Hoshi considered explaining it in terms of grammar and lexicon, but realised it would sail over her Captain's head much like orders to stay away from cheese distanced themselves from Porthos. She smiled gamely. "It's old. Like… half a million years old. And we've never had direct contact with the Bajorans, sir."

"Then you'll be the first linguist on the scene," he beamed. "Perhaps you could write the first report for Starfleet on these people."

"Perhaps, sir," she allowed with a small smile that did nothing to mask her enthusiasm.

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* * *

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"So pull the files and read 'em!" Trip called, exasperated, at a crewman out of sight behind the large warp engines. "You really wanna get there and find out their ship's using banana oil for fuel?"

"Aye, sir," came the hurried response, and Trip let his eyes roll. He turned from his favourite terminal to head for the far information base. He barrelled full-tilt into the smaller person behind him.

He bounced back quickly, grabbing at an arm to stop whomever it was from flailing to the decking. He had a second to realise his hand was around a slender, purple uniformed arm and his breath caught in his throat.

"I understand you are in a hurry Commander, but there is no need to push," T'Pol delivered archly.

He met her hard gaze, his no less stern but definitely flustered. "Do you have to stand right behind a man!"

"Do you have to hold me up as if I were an errant child?" she calmly replied. Their eyes swept down in tandem and latched onto his fingers, still encircling her upper arm.

"Oh. Ah - no," he said quickly, letting go as if the material burned. He took a step back with some haste, wiping his hands on the back of his uniform guiltily.

A single Vulcan eyebrow raised at his actions, mindful that the area of uniform his hands were using as some kind of male idea of a towel substitute covered exactly the spot where his legs met his back.

A vision of regulation Starfleet underwear came to mind. She wiped it away with complete calm.

"So you came down here to get under ma feet?" he asked, with a sheepish attempt at recovery.

"I have neither need nor time for your size twelves right now, Commander," she observed. She blinked, concerned over her tacit revelation of her knowledge of his shoe size, and the desire she had felt to use what he had referred to as 'snark' several times in recent conversations.

"So you will have later?"

"I beg your pardon?" she inquired.

He was already smiling slightly, his arms beginning to fold across his chest. "You don't have need or time _right now_, you said," he reiterated deliberately slowly, "so that kind of implies you might have need and/or time later."

"Implications are just that."

"And how do you know ma boot size?" he teased.

"A fortuitous estimation."

"Based on what?"

"Based on your… height," she replied primly, with a slight tilt of the head he found endearing in a way he would never _ever_ admit to.

"My height," he grinned, his tone flat. His head jerked to a playful tilt as his eyebrows lowered themselves in an attempt to be serious, his lips sticking out in a tandem display of confusion that came off looking more bemused.

"Your height. The measurement of your frame from ground to scalp," she answered with deliberate clarity.

"Either you're better than any quartermaster in Starfleet or I left ma boots under your bed."

"Pardon me?" Her tone sparkled with ice. But it sparkled nonetheless.

"I was wondering where ma old pair had got to."

"Commander, there are no boots under my bed, yours or otherwise," she stated calmly, resisting the impulse to reach out and touch the delicious grin that had suddenly spread over his features.

"And that's a crime," he beamed.

"I was under the impression we had agreed to forget that… any _incident_ whereby you would have had opportunity to 'leave boots under my bed' ever happened," she said, with a marked lack of conviction.

"What incident?" he teased, his tongue inside his cheek.

She blinked owlishly at him, her head tilting back slightly as the blue in his eyes whirled for her alone. She raised her right hand slowly to reveal the PADD in it.

"Would you like the specifications of the most probable form of Bajoran ship to expect?" she asked slowly.

His smile faded as he looked at the PADD. He put his hand up and took the rectangular item from her, immediately frowning as he skimmed over the front page. "How much do you know about these Bajorans?" he muttered, apparently already deep in thought.

"Only what I have read in the database," she admitted. "They are an ancient race, enlightened and wise. They neither start conflicts, nor do they presume to interfere in those of other races. They have been capable of interstellar travel for several of your centuries."

He looked up from the PADD. "That so?" he mused. "Then why do their ships look like ma mama's washing line on a Sunday morning?" He held the PADD up and round for her to look at the specs he had enlarged. "This is made of bedsheets and hope, T'Pol."

"You assume a great deal, Commander," she retorted, taking the item from him and sliding her fingers over the surface to find the information she wanted.

"Well then, looks like I failed," he replied, sighing theatrically.

"Failed," she prompted, her eyes on the PADD.

"Yep. Ma dad always told me never to assume," he smiled, putting his right hand out against the console by him. He leaned on it comfortably, his left hand going to his hip as he watched her scroll through information. "Take away U and ME and you're left with an ASS," he finished.

"Is that supposed to be a pun on possessing the wit of an Earth beast of burden?" she asked, her eyes on the PADD.

"Ya take all the fun out of it when you say it like that," he sighed, looking at his feet. She risked a quick flick of the eyes to check his expression, but found him still smiling to himself.

She looked back down at the PADD in her hands. "This is the relevant data you should be using," she said suddenly, pushing the PADD at him.

He put his left hand out and took it, turning it round and reading it. "Hmm. Tachyon eddies. Huh," he grunted, fascinated. "Anything I should know about workin' with these aliens?"

"Like what, Commander?" she asked, watching his eyes devour the schematics on the small screen.

"Y'know, like… Don't shake hands, don't complain about the environmental controls bein' stuck on fifty, that kinda thing," he muttered, apparently engrossed.

A single eyebrow edged up slowly in silence. Trip tore his gaze away from the information to take in her face that looked, for all the worlds, just the tiniest bit surprised.

"What?" he asked quietly, worried.

"It is… agreeable that you appear to be making allowances for other cultures," she remarked.

He smiled suddenly. "Find out about 'em _before_ we get there and realise we shoulda brought different spanners? Only logical," he winked, straightening off the console.

"Indeed," she allowed, her eyes opening just a tad wider. He looked back down at the PADD, pressing at it with his thumbs. "You will need time to study the data. I should return to the Bridge." She took a step back, but noticed he didn't even look up, as if he hadn't heard. "If you need my assistance, Commander, notify the Bridge."

He grunted and she nodded to herself. She turned, swept her hands behind her back to clasp them firmly, and began her walk to the exit.

"T'Pol!" he called suddenly, and she froze at the wickedness in his tone. "You forgot to say what time you'd need my boots under your bed!"

Every single crewmember in Engineering froze for a second. Then, almost as if carefully rehearsed, heads popped out of machines, bodies turned around, uniforms scooted out from under workings to direct their attention at the female Vulcan turning gracefully on the balls of her feet.

She studied the grinning male human, her eyebrow arched so highly it was all but obscured by her fringe. She felt the eyes and ears of every human on her. She drew in a slight breath, her eyes narrowing ever so slowly.

"If I required boredom to aid me in falling asleep, Commander, I have several of your Engineering reports that would more than suffice."

And with that she turned again for the door, ignoring the sounds of clapping and whistling, heckling and laughter, apparently focused on the Chief Engineer.

As she opened the door and stepped through, swinging it closed behind her, she allowed the small warm patch in her chest to generate a familiar sense of pleasure. She was illogically satisfied to know it was caused by her conversations with the Commander more and more often these days.

She turned and straightened, jutting her chin and clasping her hands behind her back. She made her way back to the Bridge.

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* * *

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"Sir," Hoshi said urgently, looking up from her console. Captain Archer swung his chair in her direction, secretly pleased with the upgrades that it had received.

"What is it, Ensign?"

"The beacon's stopped, sir," she said quickly. "I was monitoring it in case the message was updated. It just… stopped broadcasting."

"Could it be out of power?" he asked.

"Possibly, Captain," she allowed.

"It is logical to assume they would divert remaining power to keep the rescue beacon broadcasting, in the event it induced help," T'Pol chipped in quietly.

"My thoughts exactly," Archer muttered. He rubbed at a knee absently.

"Captain?" Malcolm Reed interrupted, a thoughtful tone to his voice. "Maybe someone got to them first, sir."

There was an ominous silence to the Bridge. Archer looked at his tactical officer, then turned his head quickly to look at his helmsman.

"Travis," he said edgily.

"Yes, sir."

"Edge it up to warp four, will you?"

"Aye, sir," he confirmed.

"Time to intercept?" he asked of T'Pol.

She looked down, then up at him again. "One hour, two minutes," she informed him coolly.

He nodded uneasily, looking back at the bending starfield in front of them. He bent to the arm of the chair, pressing a button. "Bridge to Engineering." There was a long pause before Archer frowned and pushed at it again. "Engineering?"

"Yep?" Trip's voice responded after a long few seconds.

"We're an hour away, Trip. We might find more than one ship out there. Prepare for trouble," Archer advised.

"Hey, I work in Engineering," came the cheeky response, chockfull of an obvious shrug in his voice.

"Point taken. Archer out." He sat back in the chair and looked at Malcolm. "When we get there, if there's anyone but Bajorans waiting for us, I want to be ready," he advised darkly.

"Aye, sir," Malcolm said brusquely. He looked down at his console, issuing orders and running inventories.

Archer ran a hand over his chin slowly. "You think Trip will need a hand?" he asked, suddenly ansy to go and _do_ something rather than sit and wait.

The Vulcan's head came up and she blinked owlishly. "I believe he already possesses the requisite number of limbs, Captain."

Archer nodded slowly, trying to keep the smile off his face. T'Pol looked back down at her console with customary standoffishness.

"If I didn't know better," Archer said bravely, "I'd say you're picking up facetiousness from our chief engineer."

"If you did not know better," T'Pol observed.

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* * *

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"Sir? We're nearing the co-ordinates," Travis announced.

"Take us out of warp, Ensign," Archer ordered.

"Aye, sir."

The ship slewed back into stationary space, the stars stopping rudely around them. Archer peered at the screen.

"How far?"

"Two thousand kilometres, sir," Travis supplied.

Archer looked at Hoshi. "Anything?"

She tapped and worked, then looked up, shaking her head. He frowned and rubbed his knee.

"Anything at all in the vicinity?" he dared.

"Captain. I am picking up one vessel, nearly six thousand kilometres from the source of the beacon," T'Pol announced, once again at her science station.

"Can we get a visual?" he demanded, standing abruptly.

T'Pol send commands through her console and the viewscreen snapped to a new vista - a tiny speck far in the distance. The Captain spared her a slow look.

"Could you _magnify_ it a little?" he asked clearly.

She didn't acknowledge the attempt at a dig. Instead she simply complied, and the viewscreen was filled with… damage.

Huge cream and golden sails of some kind of metallic mesh hung limply, shining silver masts and alloy girders crushed and twisted. It spun lazily in space, as if buffeted by an unseen wind.

"Hoshi - can you raise them?"

She worked and worked, but it was obvious there was nothing there. She shook her head.

"Life signs?" Archer asked of T'Pol.

She looked up. "Seven, Captain. All humanoid. It is difficult to pinpoint their species accurately."

"Why?"

"The ship appears to be leaking some kind of charged plasma," she informed him calmly. "It is interfering with the fine sensors."

"Do they have life support?"

The Vulcan looked down, then back up at him. "They do. They appear to be running on 37% reserve."

"Can we beam them aboard?"

"I would not recommend it with the plasma leak, Captain," she admitted darkly.

Archer looked back at the ship. "Well, chances are they don't even know we're here."

"They have windows," T'Pol remarked with unfamiliar dryness.

"And they're pointed in the right direction?" Archer inquired. "Well… Malcolm?"

"Yes sir," he said immediately, jumping to his feet.

"Yourself, T'Pol and Mister Tucker. Take a shuttlepod, dock over there and find a way to bring them back here safely. Be on your guard, Malcolm."

"Always, sir," he replied with a slight smile, already leaving the Bridge.

.

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	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

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The metallic clang of contact was felt right through the shuttlepod as Malcolm brought them up alongside.

"Are you _sure_ this is a door?" Malcolm hedged, turning in his seat.

Trip and T'Pol were already donning EV suits, checking each other's various connections and settings before Trip turned to look at the security officer.

"For the last time, Malcolm," he drawled, a clear sign of impatience, "this is the only door. Now quit griping and get your suit on."

T'Pol checked the console readouts, then moved to the door. "Commander Tucker is correct, Lieutenant Reed," she stated. "The size and design of the door beyond ours would suggest it is the main egress."

"Fine," Malcolm nodded, taking up his own suit and pulling it on swiftly. Trip turned him round and checked his connections before giving him a thumbs-up. Malcolm patted his shoulder and they turned to the door.

"But ya sure they got some kinda airlock beyond their door, right?" Trip pressed of the Vulcan. "I'd hate to pop their hatch and blow 'em all out into space."

"That would be unfortunate."

"Not to mention rude," Malcolm smiled, catching Trip's eye. He smiled from within his helmet, then turned back to T'Pol.

"Well?"

"There is no airlock," she concluded, looking over the shuttle's readouts again. "We will have to find another way to board the vessel."

Trip looked at the three of them dressed in EV suits and shrugged. "Why not just ask 'em? Go to a window and knock?"

"Commander," Malcolm tutted.

"What? Would save a lotta time," he pointed out innocently.

"Commander Tucker's plan has merit. It would be logical to use the safest way to proceed," T'Pol observed.

Malcolm shot his friend a dirty glance in jest.

Trip stuck his tongue out at him before turning from the door. "Well c'mon then, time's a-wastin'."

He headed back to the ladder in the far bulkhead, climbing up and closing the door. The two remaining officers heard the grind and squeal of metal and then it all went silent. They waited. Eventually the clang of a door closing rang and they heard the miniature airlock sealing and re-pressurising.

Malcolm went to the front window, looking out. They heard boots on the roof and looked up instinctively, until the boots stopped over the main door to the shuttle. It all went silent.

"Tucker to Shuttlepod One," came the radio.

"Go ahead, Commander," T'Pol replied before Malcolm could get his mouth open.

"I'm at the window. Looks like… lotsa damage inside, too. Looks like a bulkhead's come down, or somethin'." He paused. "Hey wait - there's a woman. Hello, lady!"

Malcolm was surprised to catch the Vulcan rolling her eyes.

"She's seen me. She looks human. No wait… Woah, _that's_ a nose and a half," Trip added.

Malcolm hid a smile. "Are you putting that in your report, Commander?" he managed.

"Score one for mouth over brain," came the sheepish response. "I'm pointin' at the door, but she's just staring at me." Pause. "_No_, the _door_," he stressed. "Door! Door!"

Malcolm and T'Pol exchanged a silent look of worry.

"Get the damn door!" Trip's voice asserted. "No, look, the - aw, she's not--. Woah!"

The connection was cut unceremoniously. The two officers waited in edgy silence.

T'Pol raised her head. "Commander?"

Malcolm reached for his phase pistol, checking the power setting and sliding it into the Velcro attachment on his EV suit. He turned for the ladder.

"Lieutenant, wait," T'Pol commanded. He paused. "Commander Tucker, you must communicate what is happening," she ordered.

Silence. T'Pol turned to Malcolm and nodded. He made for the ladder.

"I'm ok," Trip's voice interrupted him. Malcolm paused, waiting. "I'm alright. Just wasn't prepared for all seven of 'em jumping up and down in front of me like goddamn jack rabbits. I let go of the ship for a second, got maself turned around a little."

"Is that the official count? Seven?" Malcolm said quickly. "We're going to need a bigger shuttlepod."

"Agreed," she nodded. "Commander, does anyone seem to be in need of immediate medical assistance?" she asked loudly of thin air.

"Yeah - one guy here, looks like his head's been hit pretty bad." He paused. "Others seem ok. They won't open the door though, they just keep pointing at me. This little kid here's going nuts."

Malcolm's eyes widened.

"Maybe they're pointing _behind_ you!" he gasped. He turned to the main console, his fingers jabbing at buttons quickly. "Two vessels closing on our position, six minutes to intercept," he barked.

"Can you identify the vessels?" she replied immediately.

"No. Maybe the Vulcan database can. But they're _big_," he managed.

T'Pol nodded. She moved to the command console and pressed a button. "T'Pol to _Enterprise_," she said clearly.

"_Enterprise_," came Archer's voice. "T'Pol, you'll have to work fast. We've detected two ships bearing down on you."

"Which confirms our findings. Please advise."

"Hoshi says they're Cardassian," Archer responded. "Do you know of these people?"

Malcolm watched the woman lift her chin slightly from the console in an uncharacteristic show of surprise. "Is that bad?" he dared. "What's a Cardassian?"

"Unpleasant," T'Pol allowed. She drew herself up. "Captain, can you detect what class these ships are?"

"Hold on," he ordered.

T'Pol turned and sought the phase pistol on the cabinet at the back. She checked the charge and holstered it securely.

"So they're trouble?" Malcolm deduced.

T'Pol paused, then toggled a switch on her EV suit. "Commander? What is your status?"

"Between a rock and a hard place," he replied sourly. "If we got two bigger ships heading for us, we gotta move this one _now_."

"And how do you propose we--"

"I'm on ma way back. We need Enterprise and grapplers to tow 'em in."

"The ship may break up under the stress," T'Pol pointed out, even as they heard the _clang-clang-clang_ of EV boots over the outside of the hull, heading for the airlock.

"Then we'll get out and push!" Trip snapped. "Just hold your water till I get back in."

"_Enterprise_ to T'Pol," came Archer's voice.

"Go ahead, Captain."

"The ships are Galor class. Does that mean something to you?"

"That is bad news, Captain. They will surely attempt to destroy the Bajoran vessel and this one, and most likely _Enterprise_. Commander Tucker suggests we act as a tug, pushing the stricken ship toward you. I presume he plans to nudge the ship straight into a cargo bay."

"I was just gonna say that," Trip added over his comm.

Malcolm would have smiled if the console hadn't lit up like a pinball machine paying out.

"The ships will be on us in five minutes," Archer added.

Malcolm sat in the pilot's chair, adjusting settings and readying the shuttlepod. They heard the outer door open and clang shut, heard something heavy hit the inside door. Malcolm scrambled to the ladder but T'Pol was there first, shinnying up faster than anything he'd ever seen. She wrenched the wheel around with inhuman strength, shoving it open and looking up into the face of the chief engineer.

"I'm ok, just lost ma footing," he protested. He waved a hand at her to clear the way. She dropped down quickly and Malcolm got back to his seat.

Trip slid down the ladder and wrenched off his helmet, dumping it to the floor.

"Right then," he announced, slapping his hands together before stripping off the gloves, "Let's get this bedsheet and bailing wire ship in the hold, shall we?"

"Shuttlepod One, we're going with your plan to nudge it in," Archer ordered. "We're coming to you, but you're going to have to push her in the open bay doors. We'll draw their fire until we have the doors shut on you."

"We're just going to make a run for it, sir?" Malcolm asked.

"This is no time to pick a fight. We get these people and get clear while we work out what to do with them."

"Aye, sir," Malcolm acknowledged.

Trip sat heavily in the passenger seat, flexing his fingers. "So when I say, you--"

"Commander," T'Pol interrupted. She dropped a hand on the shoulder of Trip's EV suit. "I believe I would have more success piloting this vessel under the circumstances."

"That's ok, you can get the next one," he smiled, patting her hand twice.

Malcolm's eyes bulged slightly in shock at the engineer's outrageous trespass of her infamously guarded personal space. He moved his gaze back to the console hastily lest it be spotted.

T'Pol simply lifted her errant hand, in no apparent hurry. "I am more qualified."

"Not with pushing ships," Trip countered. "I know more about towin' and truckin' starships, freight ships, scout ships and friendships that any other human alive."

"I am not human."

"And neither are the people on those two ships arriving in about four minutes," he interrupted. "Maybe we could keep this argument for when we're all in the cargo bay?"

"Make haste, Commander," she advised, stepping back one.

Malcolm slid his eyes to the right, catching Trip's amused glance at him before his hands went out to the console.

"Ok then. Here we go." He powered the small craft back from the sailship, moving off slightly before turning them gently with thrusters. T'Pol had to admit, he had a fine touch on the controls as he brought them round and behind the small stricken craft. He paused for a second.

"Just hope they realise what we're doin' here," he muttered to himself. "There are kids on that ship."

"Three minutes fifteen seconds to intercept," Malcolm interrupted.

Trip straightened his back and urged the shuttlepod forward as gently as he could. There was a slight bump and a judder. T'Pol steadied herself against the bulkhead as the small pod moved forward ever so slightly.

"T'Pol, can you check if they're breaking apart over there?" Trip demanded.

She moved to the rear science station, removing her helmet and gloves quickly, dropping them to the floor. She ran her thin fingers over the console. "They appear to be as intact as they were before we arrived."

"Well if they start breaking up, you yell," he advised darkly.

The shuttle nudged with a slowness that Malcolm feared would cause him a heart attack. "Two minutes, Commander," he bit out.

"Great," Trip acknowledged. He worked over the controls silently, the two ships floating through empty space.

"_Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod One."

"Go ahead, Cap'n," Trip answered.

"We should be directly behind the craft. Keep going. We've got the cargo bay de-pressurised, don't want to drop them on the grating itself."

"Thanks, Cap'n. Give us… one minute," he relayed.

"That's all you've got," Malcolm put in. "Not that I doubt your skill, Commander, but could you get a clip on?"

"Lieutenant, do us a favour, ready some weapons or something," Trip muttered, his eyes and attention still on the controls.

"Lightship integrity appears to be balanced," T'Pol put in from behind them. "You may wish to increase speed."

"I may wish to make sure we don't all crash headlong into the bay over there," Trip replied calmly, as the huge doors to the ship opened up above them.

"Fifty seconds," Malcolm added.

The two ships drifted up. Trip manoeuvred them inside the doors.

"Cargo bay doors closing," T'Pol confirmed. "However, the cargo bay remains de-pressurised."

"Yep," Trip muttered. He moved his controls, cutting power and turning slightly. The Bajoran ship was trapped toward the wall as he began to set the shuttlepod down slowly. "Don't want 'em turning over before gravity kicks in."

T'Pol moved behind their seats, looking out the front window.

"Twenty seconds," Malcolm informed them.

"Too late," Trip replied with a smile as they set down neatly. "We've gone to warp."

"How can you tell, Commander?" T'Pol asked, leaning forward between the seats to confirm this news.

"Vibration," he commented absently, turning his seat to get up. He bumped into her but shot back quickly. She stepped backwards and he tossed an indecipherable glance her way before he walked straight on past to the door. "We got atmosphere in the cargo bay yet?"

T'Pol looked at the controls. "Thirty seconds to full pressurisation."

Trip and Malcolm began stripping off the EV suits, leaving them in a bundle on the floor and checking zips were up uniforms neat.

"_Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod One," Archer called. T'Pol leaned over and pressed the button, looking at Trip expectantly.

"Yeah, Cap'n," Trip replied. "Just getting ready to check on 'em. We away?"

"We are. Well done, people, they hadn't even dropped out of warp before we disappeared."

"Captain. If this was an attempt to find the Bajoran lightship for any reason, they may not take kindly to its extraction. They may be tracking our warp signature in the hope of finding us," T'Pol speculated.

"We'll plan for that once we know the condition of the people on that ship," Archer responded. "Doctor Phlox is on his way down there to help you."

"Acknowledged," T'Pol simply nodded, pressing the button and cutting the communication.

The two humans exchanged a glance before Trip put his hand on the door release. "We got pressure yet?"

T'Pol flicked her gaze over the readings on the main console. "We have."

He turned and pushed at the door, opening it up into the cargo bay. He sprang out and was gone before Malcolm could scramble after him, ready to tackle whomever was waiting for them.

As Malcolm and T'Pol caught up with him, Trip was already pulling at small panels and fiddling with small cables and wires.

"Got the door," he announced. "Stand back, this might swing out and take our heads off or something."

He stood to the side as the door slid safely to the right, inside its housing.

"Wow, that was close," Malcolm nodded sarcastically. Trip frowned at him and then ducked his head in the door.

"Hello?" he called hopefully. "We got--"

A ball of red fire engulfed him. He was knocked back out of the doorway, landing heavily on his back. He realised it was not fire but a _person_, raining blows on his head and screaming. He raised his arms to protect his head.

The shouting and threatening continued but suddenly the pounding was gone. He sat up quickly, finding Malcolm and T'Pol holding a struggling child by one arm each.

It was a girl, roughly nine years old by Earth standards, kicking, screaming and tugging at her captors, her feet clear of the ground in their grip.

"Metarh!" came a snap of command from somewhere inside the ship.

The girl quietened, T'Pol noticed, but still struggled a little.

"They're with the Cardassians!" the young girl screamed defiantly.

"Enlightened, huh?" Trip managed, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off slowly.

A tall, willowy woman - the woman he had seen in the window of the ship - appeared out of the door and strode over. She moved with a purpose, her target apparently the child. But she stopped as she realised the two officers were watching her. She appraised them with agitation.

"Bahla Metarh, you will behave yourself!" she snapped angrily. The child sagged in the officers' grip, bowing her head. The woman turned to Trip quickly. "I am most sorry for her conduct," she said, approaching him and looking him up and down openly. "Are you injured?"

"Oh - ah, no, not really," he managed. "I'm Commander Tucker. This is _Enterprise_. You're safe," he reassured her.

"I am Bahla Nevro, and that is my ship, the _Dakeen_. And you," she said with a small smile and a raised hand to his arm, "have my personal gratitude."

.

.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

.

T'Pol's hand on the child opened and she hurtled to the decking with a dull thud. Whether or not the Vulcan knew that Malcolm had already let go was a matter for the British officer's personal debate at a later date.

"This little one," Bahla Nevro announced slowly, turning and putting a hand out for the wayward youngster, "is with me. Her name is Bahla Metarh."

"Pleased to meet you. I think," Trip managed.

The girl took her mother's hand, leaning on her side and staring up at him. "What's wrong with your nose?" she demanded.

"Metarh! Such rudeness!" Nevro chided.

"But it's all flat," she observed. "Except the end that looks like Dad's sports ramp."

Trip's mouth floundered but another voice cut in quickly.

"You have an injured person aboard your ship," T'Pol observed, a slight edge to her voice that made Malcolm look at her in curiosity.

"Yeah - injured people first," Trip nodded.

Nevro turned to the door. She caught sight of the Vulcan, still in the EV suit but minus her helmet and gloves, and paused. Her eyes swept up and down her but she said nothing.

T'Pol, for her part, let her dispassionate gaze take in the Bajoran's long blond hair, her incongruously brown eyes, her long, lean limbs and pleasant face. She inclined her head slightly and Nevro returned the gesture before gliding past her and heading back into the ship. T'Pol followed silently.

Malcolm and Trip shared a glance. "What was that?" the tactical officer wondered out loud.

"You're familiar with billions of different kinds of combat," Trip sighed, "and you don't recognise a sizing up when you see one?"

"Those two?" Malcolm gestured to the sailship. "What would they have to fight over?"

"They're women, Malcolm, who knows? Maybe Vulcans and Bajorans don't mix," Trip grunted, following them to the door in the ship.

"Commander! Hello!" came an ebullient shout and they turned to see Phlox hurrying along the top catwalk. "I am told someone needs my help?"

"One Bajoran male, apparently," Malcolm replied.

"Really! How fascinating," Phlox grinned, turning and making his best speed down the ladder. He sped over and Trip waved a hand at the open ship door.

The Denobulan ducked in and disappeared. Malcolm started for the door until he realised Trip wasn't following.

"What? Afraid you're going to get swiped to the ground by another child?" he teased.

"Not exactly a great way to meet a new race o' people," Trip grumped.

"Little bit of pride hurt because you were beaten helpless by a _girl_?" he grinned. Trip pushed at his shoulder in amusement and they turned to the ship door. "Don't worry, Commander," he added, "should any more minors attempt to harm you, I shall stun them before they can do any damage."

"You'd stun a child?" Trip gasped, apparently horrified.

Malcolm flashed a grin. "With my rakish smile and impressive knowledge of toy weapons, of course."

"Just go," Trip sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

"Trip!" came a shout from behind. Malcolm carried on into the ship but Trip turned at the voice.

"Couldn't resist a peek, could you?" he called back.

Archer was already down the ladder and crossing the cargo bay. "Well I _am_ Captain," he smiled. "Would be rude not to introduce myself."

The door filled with people and they turned to look. Nevro was pulling a smaller child by the hand, a miniature copy of herself. The girl was watching everything with wide eyes.

"The orange man!" the girl gasped. She let go of her mother and streaked across the grating, launching herself at the front of Trip's legs. She hardly felt his wobble of surprise, clamping her arms round his legs and squeezing. "Hello, orange man! You've turned blue!" she squealed delightedly.

"Orange man?" Archer prompted, but to say Trip ignored him would be to say that he was aware of anything other than the girl clinging to his nether regions.

"Pell!" Nevro called, shocked, "Let go of that man!"

Trip was still speechless, looking down at the child applying pressure roughly equal to the integrity of six self-sealing stem-bolts.

"Looks like you have a fan," Archer observed, hiding a grin at his engineer's expense.

"Uh…"

"Do you usually have this much trouble controlling your offspring?" came an arch inquiry, and Nevro turned to find the Vulcan helping the doctor carry a laden stretcher from the ship door.

The response on Nevro's lips died and she crossed to the stretcher. "Gree," she urged, looking down at the man quite comfortable atop.

"Now now," Phlox said quickly, "he's in no danger but I have sedated him to get him to Sickbay. It would be best if we weren't slowed down," he added in a friendly but nevertheless firm manner.

"Of course - I'm sorry - I'm sorry - I'm not quite sure of what's happening yet," she nodded. "Please, take him." T'Pol and Phlox carried the man and stretcher away easily between them. Nevro turned to look around the cargo bay. "Where is everyone?" she breathed to herself, rubbing her forehead. "Pell! Metarh!" she called sharply.

Pell released the chief engineer from her vice-like grip and ran over cheerfully, grabbing her mother's hand. Metarh edged over, watching them all warily. Nevro picked up the smaller child, sitting her on her hip and catching at Metarh with her free hand.

"You stay close to me, understand?" she ordered. "We don't know how big this ship is. You could get lost."

"Ok," Metarh agreed sullenly.

Nevro looked up at the Starfleet officers, who were watching her patiently.

"I can't apologise enough for the actions of the girls here," she offered.

"Uh - no, that's, uh, fine," Trip managed with a weak smile. "Just tryin to get feeling back in ma legs."

"I'm so sorry, really," Nevro repeated. "It's just… We got caught in some kind of storm, my brother was injured, we've had a really hard few days. Pell here thinks you're a hero, knocking on our window like that."

"Just lendin' a hand," he shrugged, but Archer noticed a slight red tinge to the engineer's face as he rubbed the back of his neck briskly. "Oh, ah, Cap'n, this is Cap'n Bahla Nevro," he added quickly.

Archer felt his mouth go dry as she turned her eyes on him alone. She walked over, stopping in front of him.

"Actually? It's just Bahla," she sighed. "I _bought_ the ship, we're just two families on a pilgrimage."

"Pilgrimage?" Archer managed, hoping the odd stab of surprise at her beauty was not showing on his face. "Well now your ship can be repaired and everyone's safe on board _Enterprise_, how about we find you all somewhere to rest. If you'll tell us your heading we can point ourselves in the right direction," he offered.

"That would be very kind of you, Captain," she smiled. "We have no way to repay you for what you've done so far--"

Archer waved his hands at her, cutting off her protests. "Really, just letting my chief engineer crawl over your engines will be payment enough," he smiled, flicking his eyes at Trip for a second. He noticed the other officer's meaningful smile, complete with rather cheekily raised eyebrows, and realised perhaps he was not doing as good a job of covering his appreciation of the Bajoran woman as he had previously thought.

"In that case I'd like to see to my brother before I think of anything else," she nodded, interrupting his train of thought.

"Of course. Commander Tucker can escort you to Sickbay. Can I arrange quarters for the rest of your party?"

Nevro turned and looked at the three weary Bajorans venturing from the ship slowly.

"That would be most kind," she nodded. She turned back to her people. "This is our rescuer, Captain Archer," she smiled. "He'll show you to a place of rest. I want to see Gree first."

There were nods of agreement all round. Archer held a hand out to indicate the way, backing up. The dishevelled bunch followed him gratefully.

Nevro turned to Trip. "Commander, you're very kind to help us like this," she smiled. Pell looked at her mother, then back at the strange man and his polite expression of helpfulness.

"It's what we do," he managed non-commitedly, before Pell raised a hand in query. His eyes went to hers. "Can I help you, young miss?"

"Is Commander your first or family name?" she asked innocently.

"Commander is my rank - my job," he added, when her small face clouded with confusion. "Tucker is my family name. What about you? Pell your first name?" he smiled.

She nodded shyly and turned into her mother. The older child, Metarh, folded her arms slowly as she gazed at him speculatively.

"Sorry for hitting you," she offered.

"We'll just put it down to mistaken identity," he allowed. "So, Sickbay? Your uncle's gonna be waiting for you."

"He's not my uncle," Metarh muttered, but she began walking off across the cargo bay.

Trip waved a hand out and the other two followed her lead.

.

* * *

.

They approached Sickbay, and it became obvious Metarh was more anxious to get inside than either Nevro or Pell. Trip pushed the button and the doors whooshed open. The two youngsters raced in, to be met with Phlox's obvious joy at meeting such young aliens in good health and spirit.

"Well, good morning," he crowed, causing the two girls to screech to a halt and clasp hands in shock.

"Another alien!" Pell gasped. "This ship is _great!_"

"Doctor," Nevro said gratefully.

"At your service. I have good news: the head wound your friend sustained looks worse than it is. I would like him to stay here tonight, but he should be able to leave tomorrow, all being well."

"That's a relief," she sighed. "Can I see him?"

Phlox nodded. "He's sleeping right now, but he's all cleaned up. I'm sure the little ones would like to him much more comfortable than he was, hmm?" he grinned. He led her across Sickbay to the curtained off area, pulling it back slowly.

T'Pol had shucked her EV suit and was standing in her purple catsuit, a PADD in her hand, her gaze on it steadfast.

"His readings are returning to normal," she advised, looking up at Nevro with customary neutrality. Trip wandered up and looked around Phlox's shoulder.

"There, see? What'd I say, he's fine," he nodded.

T'Pol turned her cool gaze on him. "It was unwise to speculate on his medical condition while he was in transit," she stated.

"I was right though," Trip grinned.

"You were fortunate. Had the doctor not been as skilled as he is, you may have offered false hope."

"I knew Phlox'd fix him up. You're too pessimistic."

"And you are too willing to ignore caution when it suits you."

"And that's the first time I've heard you complain about _that_," he allowed, with a raising of both sagging eyebrows in a challenging manoeuvre that gave the impression he was waiting for a certain response.

She stared at him, then dragged her stoney gaze away to draw in a soothing breath. "Perhaps, in future, you could leave the medical opinions to the Doctor," she allowed.

"Give over, T'Pol," he teased. "You're just upset I got to push the alien ship into the cargo bay instead o' you."

The Vulcan blinked at him. "Next time I need someone to perform more menial tasks, I shall no doubt be in need of your services once more," she allowed, her head swaying to one side gracefully as she placed her hands behind her back. "Welcome aboard," she nodded to Nevro, stepping away from the biobed and sliding out of Sickbay with customary aplomb.

Phlox looked at Trip, but he was smiling a private smile that seemed a little out of place, considering the insult she had just laid on him. The Denobulan shook his head, not even trying to fathom what score the Vulcan vs Human war was carrying right at that moment.

There was a familiar double beep and he straightened, fishing in the zip-up pocket on his left arm for his communicator. "Tucker here."

"Sir? It's Hess. Are the EPS conduits on D deck supposed to be at 50%?" came a worried voice.

Trip sighed. "No, they are not. I'll swing by Engineerin' for some tools on my way down there."

"Yes, sir."

Trip snapped it closed and looked at the Bajorans. "Well, no rest for the wicked - seems I'm needed elsewhere. Ah, Miss Bahla? You need anything, you just holler, ok?"

"Thank you, Commander," Nevro nodded.

Trip returned the nod, sent Phlox a happy glance, and turned to leave.

Pell, her hand still in her mother's, suddenly let her mouth fall open and she emitted a loud cry not unlike an ancient Earth foghorn.

Everyone jumped, especially Nevro. "Pell, what in the world--"

"He said if we needed anything, we had to shout," she protested.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I did," he admitted sheepishly. Phlox grinned to himself, moving off the to the counter to sort through hypos. "What I meant was, let someone know."

"Oh," she blinked. "Well… I need something," she said bravely.

"And what's that, young miss?" he smiled.

"I want to come to this 'enjinearin' with you," she said. "How many ears does it have?"

"It doesn't," he said, his face creasing up in abject confusion.

"You said it was 'enjin-ear--"

"I get it," he sighed. "It's just a department. It's where the engines are," he said patiently.

"Oh. Then you'd better go. I want to stay here with Mother," she said quietly.

"It's probably a good thing you do," Trip allowed. "If you're hungry later, I know where to get ice-cream."

"Ice-cream?" Metarh put in quickly. "Is that the frozen desert with fruit in it?"

"Yeah," he blinked. "You don't have ice-cream on your world?"

"We have jumja sticks," Pell chipped in suddenly. "I've still got two in my room. You can have one if you show me your 'enjinearin' work place," she bargained.

"Well, I'll certainly make it my priority for you to come down and take a look, little lady," he grinned. "Doctor, Miss Bahla, kids," he winked, and turned away.

Nevro watched him leave, shaking her head before turning to Gree on the biobed. She noticed the doctor watching her.

"How many different races are there on this ship?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, just three. You've met all our variants," he smiled.

"The lady who was here - is she in command over Archer?" she asked idly. Phlox watched the Bajoran walk closer to the sleeping brother, placing her hand on his. Pell and Metarh had already let go of the Bajoran woman, disappearing to the next, empty biobed and looking it over in curiosity.

"She is second in command, after Captain Archer," he allowed. "Commander Tucker is third, when he's not in the bowels of the ship, tinkering with engines."

"Ah, I see," she nodded. "And how long have they been married?"

"Oh, they're not married," Phlox chuckled. "At least - as far as I know," he added quickly, his face dropping. He shook his head, looking back at her. "Why would you think they are?"

"They argue like I used to with my husband," she said quietly. "I know married couples when I see them, no matter the mix of races."

"I shall be sure to pass this observation on to both parties," Phlox promised, very much looking forward to watching the reactions of said parties - from a safe distance. "And if I may ask, is your husband not with you on your ship?"

She looked over at the two children, happily talking between themselves by the next bed. "My husband was killed," she informed him quietly. "Gree is his brother. Therefore, he is _my_ brother. And therefore…" Her voice trailed off. "Oh, listen to me… I've known you two minutes and I'm already telling you my life story," she sighed.

"Ohh, come now, that's understandable. You've had a rough few days, and are now adjusting to a strange new ship. I'm sure after a good night's sleep all this will look very different, hmm? Shall I accompany you to your quarters?"

"That would be very welcome," she smiled. He nodded, turning to his patient. He checked the monitor once more before setting down the small item he had been fiddling with in his hands.

Nevro turned to the children. "Metarh, Pell, come on now," she called. They ran over, grasping her hands.

"While we walk, perhaps you might enlighten me as to your world - what's it called?" Phlox asked, leading them to the door.

"Bajor," she said happily. "Peaceful, blue - lots of farmers, kava roots and hasperat," she added knowingly.

"Ah. It seems I have much to learn," he smiled, opening the door for them. They were barely out of the doors before a voice crackled over the air.

"_This is Captain Archer. This is a tactical alert. All hands to stations. This is a tactical alert, people_."

.

.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

.

"_This is Captain Archer. This is a tactical alert. All hands to stations. This is a tactical alert, people_."

Trip looked up into random airspace at the Captain's voice. A moment later the comm buzzed by his head.

"Archer to Engineering. We need all the warp you have, Commander. We have two Cardassian ships determined to overtake us - Lieutenant Reed thinks they're the same ones we avoided before."

Trip's frown deepened as he pressed the button. "Aye sir, best we got. These ships, what are they?"

"Galor class. Vulcan database says they're a match for us. Do your best. Archer out."

Trip let his eyes roll, understanding only too well what that meant. He lifted his hands, clapping them loudly. "Alright, people!" he called.

Engineering came to a standstill. Every crewmember stopped and turned to him, listening.

"We got a situation here. This is where I do the shoutin', you do the jumpin', and then we all do the askin' later, when we're chuckling over Andorian ale in the Mess Hall, got it?"

Heads nodded, a few voices answered in the affirmative, and Trip tugged his uniform zip down slightly.

_Assumin' we still have a Mess Hall when this is over_…

.

* * *

.

"Captain, the vessels are still gaining on us," T'Pol informed him. Her voice may have been announcing the weather, such was its distinct lack of urgency.

"Weapons are charged?" Archer asked quickly, turning his chair to look at Malcolm.

"Ready, sir. Across the board," Malcolm replied, as if his hand were already hovering over the 'fire' button.

"Let's hope we won't need them," Archer added, turning back to the viewscreen. It was displaying the two vessels in warp behind them.

"They are ten thousand kilometres from our stern," T'Pol announced.

"Captain - we're being hailed," Hoshi said suddenly.

"Hailed?" Archer blinked. He got to his feet, walking over and peering over the top at her console. He thought for a long second. Then he turned to the viewscreen. "Do we have visual?"

"We do," she nodded.

"Then… put them on," he muttered thoughtfully.

The screen burst into life, one large grey face filling it easily. The eyes ranged around the Bridge idly, before the mouth opened.

"Who is in charge?"

"I am," Archer warned, walking back to his chair. He refused to sit. "I'm Captain Archer and this is the Earth vessel _Enterprise_. To whom am I speaking?"

The face leaned back slightly, and Travis and Hoshi stared at the bone structure, the shapes and ridges. Malcolm noticed the ridged neckline and tried to gauge how hard it would be to access soft body parts in a fight.

"I am Gul Sokor. This is the Cardassian vessel _Lakarian_. You will drop out of warp and hand over the prisoners you are attempting to help."

"Prisoners?" Archer prompted. "We have no prisoners on this ship."

The Cardassian opened his mouth, but then his gaze caught something and he paused. He adjusted his vision back to Archer.

"You have a Vulcan on your Bridge," he sneered.

"And you appear to have a Bajoran on yours," T'Pol stated.

Archer looked to her, then followed her gaze to the viewscreen. Sure enough, in the far background behind the man's right shoulder, there was a shock of brown hair and a tell-tale nose ridge.

"Yours is not a Vulcan vessel, nor are you Vulcan," Gul Sokor continued, aimed at Archer. "What are you?"

"Is he another prisoner of yours?" Archer asked slowly. Something about his science officer's hooded gaze told him he was on thin ice.

"He is my navigator," he smiled. "Caromer - come here," he added, tipping a finger over his shoulder.

The brown head mover closer and the Gul looked off-screen, to his left. He shifted to one side and put his hand out, grabbing something and pulling it closer.

A young face squirmed in discomfort and shock, blinking into the viewscreen.

"Say hello to the non-Vulcans," Sokor grinned, squeezing on his hold of the young lad's neck. He gasped and nodded hurriedly. Sokor chuckled, pushing him away. "He works for me. We feed him. Sometimes we feed him enough. He is no concern of yours," he groused, turning back to the viewscreen. "What I want from you are the escaped convicts named Bahla Nevro and Torran Gree."

Archer shrugged, shaking his head.

"We don't know anyone by those names," he said. "Have you tried that planet a few days' journey behind you? We passed it but didn't stop - scans showed it was very nice though," he offered. "Maybe someone there knows where those people went."

Sokor slapped the desk, but he appeared to be grinning. "I like you, Archer. You like to play. Very well. If you do not drop out of warp and let us take our prisoners back, we shall simply disable your engines and life support, wait for you to suffocate, and then come aboard and take them ourselves." He nodded, sitting back. "And now you must keep this volley going."

"How about, we drop out of warp and blow holes in _your_ engines first?" Archer asked graciously. "Who's to say who has bigger guns?"

"I am, and I do," he chuckled. "But this is exciting. Please, let me," he nodded. "We shall both drop out of warp. Then we will fire on each other. It will be thrilling to see who fires first, yes?"

Archer shrugged, as if he cared neither way. "If you really want to. But I have to warn you, it'll be unfair - I have more crew, more weapons engineers, faster guns."

"Then you have more names to cross off tomorrow's duty roster after adding them to your morgue," Sokor challenged, clearly enjoying himself. "And now, your shot?"

"But I have more crew to start with - I can keep going through them until your ship is in a thousand pieces," Archer shot back. T'Pol turned and regarded him, noticing the angry air about him.

"And now we get to it," Sokor deduced, leaning forward in his chair. "You will drop out of warp, Archer. We will board your ship, whether you are alive or not. And you will hand over the prisoners you are sheltering."

Archer bit his lip, his frown silencing even a need to make a suggestion from T'Pol. He turned and wandered to the back of his chair, putting a hand on it slowly. He swung it slightly, as if thinking.

"You know, I don't even know why we're arguing about this," he said, suddenly cheerful again. He looked up at the face looming from the viewscreen. "After all, we don't even have any prisoners anyway. Unless you count an osmotic eel in Sickbay."

"Then why not let us aboard?" Sokor oiled.

"You have a point," Archer nodded. "Fine. We'll drop out of warp. You can send six men over, and we'll help you look. If we _do_ have stowaways, I want to know about it."

"You are a remarkable man, Archer," Sokor grinned. He slapped the table again. "Agreed."

"But we can't just drop out of warp," Archer added. "We're running as hot as we can - if we simply stop we'll do irreparable damage to our engines."

"You may have time to slow your ship to a dead stop," Sokor offered. "We will match you."

"Our engines may take six minutes," Archer observed wryly. "I'm afraid they're quite old."

"Five minutes," Sokor snapped. The viewscreen changed back to the image of the two ships following them.

"Travis," Archer said quickly. "Decelerate through the warp increments. It has to take no less than six minutes, do you understand me?"

"Six minutes, sir?"

"Six minutes, Mister Mayweather." He turned to his left. "T'Pol - gather all the Bajorans and get them down to Engineering. Trip will know what to do."

The Vulcan, clearly with no clue what it all meant, simply nodded and rose, her fastest stride taking her to the lift.

Archer looked back at the screen, then turned to Malcolm. "We need to make sure those thugs don't hurt any of our crew while they're 'looking'."

"We could lock out the Bridge with a skeleton crew, send everyone else to the cargo bay, hide the MACOs in Starfleet uniforms?" he suggested.

Archer straightened his back, thinking. "Issue the order - all personnel to cargo bay one - and get them to stack everything they can in front of that Bajoran ship. I want the MACOs in their own uniforms - and heavily armed, Lieutenant. A show of power is a show of power," he nodded.

"Aye sir."

"I want you down there too, keeping an eye on these aliens. Get your best man up here to take your seat--"

"Sir--"

"I need you down there, Malcolm, protecting everyone. We won't need weapons up here while their ships are waiting for their own search teams."

Malcolm nodded and shot off his chair, heading for the lift too.

"Hoshi, Travis, you're staying here. I might need comms or helm real fast."

"Aye sir," Travis nodded. He automatically looked at his console, thinking ahead to evasive manoeuvres or escape vectors.

"You really need a translator, Captain?" Hoshi asked.

"Actually, I need you to get into the Vulcan database and find out what these 'Cardassians' are made of. I've only talked to one and already I'm starting to dislike the entire race."

"Yes Captain," she acknowledged, appreciating his attempt at levity for her sake.

Archer sat slowly, tabbing the comms on the arm of his chair. "Bridge to Engineering."

"Engineering," came Trip's worried voice.

"We need six minutes to decelerate into normal space, isn't that right, Commander?"

"Come again, sir?"

"We're stalling the Cardassians. T'Pol's bringing all the Bajorans your way. It's a long story, and I don't even know all of it, but under no circumstances are the search parties to find our new guests."

"Search parties?" Trip protested. "Son of a--. We rum-runnin' then, sir?"

"We are, Trip. Stow them."

"Aye-aye!"

Archer nodded and sat back, rubbing a knee absently. He felt Hoshi's gaze on him and looked over at her. "Ensign?"

"Clever, sir," she acceded.

"Only if it works," he warned.

.

* * *

.

T'Pol shepherded the seven Bajorans down to Engineering, finding to her well-buried dismay that six-year-old Pell kept trying to hold her hand.

Metarh noticed T'Pol's frozen face of displeasure and took her sister's hand, drawing her away from the austere alien woman.

"She doesn't like us," Metarh whispered to her young charge. "Stay with us, ok?"

T'Pol's keen hearing easily picked up the assertion but she ignored it admirably. Instead she turned to Nevro, helping an unstable Gree hobble down the corridor.

"We are nearly at our destination," she informed the Bajoran.

"You don't have to pretend you care," Gree bit out, the first words he had uttered since Phlox had revived him.

"Whether I care or not is hardly relevant," T'Pol observed coolly. "We must have you hidden before the Cardassians board _Enterprise_."

"Cardassians!" Pell squeaked in fear. Metarh put her arm round her shoulder, pulling her tight to her side and tossing a filthy look at the Vulcan science officer.

"Look what you've done!" she accused.

"Metarh, just hurry along," Nevro called sharply. T'Pol stopped to one side of the corridor, counting the Bajorans that passed her.

"The door is directly in front of you," she advised, falling in behind the last man. "Do not dawdle."

She followed them all in, closing the door behind her. She found the place deserted, save Trip and Hess.

"Commander - where are--"

"Cap'n's got everyone down in cargo bay one for safety," Tucker interrupted. "This everyone?"

"It is," she replied. "However, I do not understand why Captain Archer believes you can--"

"It's a gift," Trip cut in with a slight smile at her. "Rum hatches," he added quickly over his shoulder. Hess nodded and the two Starfleet officers turned to Nevro. "Miss Bahla, Hess here can hide three. Can you pick 'em so she can go get them stowed away?"

Nevro didn't flinch. She turned and looked out at the sea of faces. "We'll keep together as families. Meela, you go," she said to one of the older women. She nodded, gesturing the two Bajorans with her over quickly.

"Make it good, Hess," Trip warned, and the younger woman nodded, bounding off with three civilians in tow. Trip looked back at the others. "Right, follow me. T'Pol, take up the rear, make sure we don't lose anyone. This is going to be mighty interestin'."

The Vulcan nodded, an almost coherent feeling of relief washing over her that she would not have to suffer the children's - or the injured man's - tongues as they moved through the bowels of the ship. Trip led them to a hatch in the grating, pulling it up and waving them down. He helped Gree through and the wounded man managed to get down and grasp onto the pipes and pumps lining the walls.

Trip looked at T'Pol, expecting her to go first. But she paused, an almost vulnerable look on her face.

"What?" he asked, uneasy at her hesitation.

"It would be better if you went first," she said calmly. "You know the way."

_And…?_ Trip's mind filled in the silent part she was loathe to voice, and he nodded quickly. _I'll just find out later anyway_, he realised. He crouched, shoving his legs through the hole and dropping to the level below.

T'Pol straightened her shoulders and repeated his actions, pausing to close the grating over her head. As she turned and followed them down the corridor, she didn't need Trip's almost clairvoyant sense of engine awareness to know they were now officially in trouble.

_Enterprise_ had dropped out of warp.

.

.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note:_

_And the AU-ness starts to rear its ugly head._

* * *

.

**SIX**

.

"I know it's a bit of a squeeze, but no-one's gonna find us down here," Trip said confidently, putting his boot in the door and sliding in through the maintenance hatch. Once inside he found he couldn't straighten and had to lean out of the hole again to lift the cover. He pulled it up and snapped it back into place, backing up slowly to press the button to his right.

The inside door slammed closed with a _clang_ that made the two children jump. It also cut out all ventilation and light dramatically, adding to the feeling of being trapped in a lift half normal height. He turned, shifted round, and leaned back against the hatch to sit down.

"Commander," T'Pol said clearly.

In the sudden pitch he was having trouble making out any shape that might be a head. But then suddenly he knew; not being able to see meant he had a strange feeling he knew exactly where she was sitting - and how she was regarding him in the darkness, thinking he couldn't see it.

He put his hand out. She slapped a phase pistol into and he had time to wonder how she knew how accurately where his hand had been. He brushed the thought aside and took a good hold, his fingers sliding over the weapon to check the settings.

"Keep 'em on stun," he warned.

"Of course," she replied.

It was silent, Trip lost in his thoughts, wondering how and why he could pinpoint his Vulcan colleague so easily in the dark. And why he could almost, _almost_ get the idea she was… apprehensive.

He was brought out of his reverie by the sounds of banging far above them. He recognised it as boots. Seconds later he heard a sniffing, keening sound.

"Pell," Metarh whispered in the darkness.

"Quiet," T'Pol ordered. Her voice had been calm enough, but Trip heard the slight undertone of worry making it sharper.

But the girl's crying appeared to get worse.

"Pell," Nevro whispered. "Where are you?"

There was shuffling and movement, and Trip splayed his hand out in the gloom, forgetting no-one could see it.

"_Shhh!_" he urged.

He was rewarded with silence. All heads, in the darkness, faced up to the ceiling of their hiding place. They listened, straining their ears, all adults save one holding their breath.

A long, uneasy minute passed. There was more shuffling somewhere near Trip, and then he felt a hand on the sleeve of his uniform. It pulled, a little sniffle coming fast behind it.

"Will they find us?" Pell managed, her small voice a barely-restrained whimper.

Trip put his hands out, finding the girl on her knees at his side. As his hands brushed her arms she stirred and he realised he had triggered something; her hands grasped at the front of his uniform and pulled, her breath catching in her throat.

He realised that ultimately he had no choice. He put his hands under her arms and lifted her to sit sideways on his lap. She faced into him immediately and put her arms round him.

He let an awkward hand land on her shoulder but then, of its own accord, it ran down and rubbed her back soothingly. Her sniffling stopped but she held onto him tightly.

_Just like Lizzie_, he sighed.

There was another shuffling, another momentary adjustment in the tiny room. Suddenly a thin beam of light pierced the blackness, settling on the wall to his left. Pell squealed and Trip flinched at the noise.

"Sshh," he soothed. "They're not gonna find us." He looked up to find the pencil thin beam was coming from a tiny flashlight in T'Pol's hand. "Do you have to shine that thing in here?" he demanded hoarsely.

"I was attempting to alleviate the child's fear of the dark," she whispered back.

"You just scared the life outta her - and me!"

"It is my mistake," T'Pol decided, shutting off the beam.

"But it was very kind of you," Nevro put in quietly.

Gree's voice added sourly, "For a Vulcan."

Before he could restrain himself Trip's snapped whisper broke in: "Can I remind you we're supposed to be hidin' in here?"

Silence once more descended. For the barest moment, he had the crazy idea he could feel… gratitude.

And it was not Bajoran.

.

* * *

.

"So the dog turns to the horse and says, 'hey buddy, why the long face?'" Trip whispered.

Pell giggled and slapped a hand over her mouth, leaning her head against the uniform over his chest and trying not to snort in open amusement.

"I do not understand," T'Pol ventured after some moments.

"Understand what?" Trip asked, lost.

"Why that would be cause for laughter," she whispered back. "A horse possesses a 'long face' at all times."

Trip grinned into the darkness before a muffled beep called for his attention. He reached for his arm pocket, realised Pell was in the way, and tutted.

"'Scuze me, darlin," he whispered, lifting her up and sitting her on the floor next to him. She grumped and clung to his right arm instead. He was already lifting it away to reach for the zip on his left arm, fishing around in the attached pocket for his communicator. "This is Trip."

"Trip! Malcolm," came a tinny voice.

"What's the story?"

"You might have to sit tight a while longer, my friend. Sounds like they're not finished with the Mess Hall. Too many cupboards to check," the tactical officer's quiet voice advised.

"Damn. This idn't the biggest place to hole up - but at least we're safe. Can you give us a heads-up if they think of checking all the hot hatches in the boonies underneath Engineering?" he whispered.

"Will do. How's everyone faring?"

"Hess' got three, me and T'Pol have the other four squared away. You?"

"In cargo bay one. They've swept us all, done some scans, been thoroughly unpleasant throughout - nothing out of the ordinary these days," Malcolm whispered. "Keep your chin up."

"Look at their eyes, not at their hands," Trip smiled in the darkness. He flipped the communicator closed, pushing it back in his pocket.

There was a long silence. Then a little voice spoke up.

"So… you never did say," Metarh whispered. "What _is_ wrong with your nose?"

.

* * *

.

T'Pol activated the small scanner, waving it over the injured man first, and everyone else straight after.

"Problem?" Trip whispered, his eyes drawn to the tiny screen providing a sliver of light in the blackened hole.

"Gree appears comfortable," she announced quietly, before turning off the scanner. "His signs are stable."

"No Cardassian life signs near us?" he whispered.

"I cannot be sure. The decking around us prevents clear readings."

Silence.

"Everyone else asleep?" Trip wondered eventually.

"Yes."

"Must be the heat," he sighed. He unzipped the front of his uniform halfway, pulling a few buttons open on his cotton undershirt. "Wish we could open this inner hatch."

"We must be patient."

There was a murmur and movement, followed by a yawn that sounded very much like a small child. Pell opened an eye, finding she was leaning on something very comfortable. She put her hand out next to her face and felt warm cotton move in and out slowly. "Orange man?" she wondered drowsily.

"Why do you call him 'Orange Man', child?" T'Pol asked quietly.

"Why don't you like us?" Pell whispered back.

"Woah - wait a moment," Trip interrupted. "I'm guessing it's cos the EV suits are kind of orange - and it's not that she doesn't like you," he protested.

"She doesn't. She never smiles at us."

T'Pol felt, rather than saw, the wide Florida grin in the darkness.

"She doesn't smile at anyone," Trip managed against his own amusement.

"Not even you?"

There was a slight pause. "Not even me."

"Oh," Pell nodded. "But she likes you, so not smiling at you is not the same as not smiling at us."

"Who says she likes me?" Trip teased, and T'Pol felt a strange, warm flush come to her face. Suddenly she was glad of the darkness.

"I do. She doesn't smile when she talks to you, but her eyes laugh. She _likes_ talking with you," Pell concluded cheerfully. "She likes _you_."

A slow humming was heard and a tiny, square light blinked on.

Pell looked over. "What _is_ that?"

"It is a scanner," T'Pol whispered. "I am attempting to determine if anyone is within sensor range."

"Why?"

"Leaving these cramped conditions would be agreeable."

Trip smiled in the darkness at her barely-concealed escape attempt.

"Anyway, even if it is flat, I kind of like your nose," Pell whispered.

"Well thanks," Trip chuckled.

"That's a clever machine if it can find people outside by just thinking," she added.

"It doesn't think, it kinda smells 'em out."

"Like your nose?"

"Like my nose."

"It is useful and aesthetically pleasing," T'Pol agreed.

"What is, the scanner or my nose?" Trip teased. There was no verbal answer, but somewhere in the darkness he could swear he felt amusement.

T'Pol snapped off the scanner quickly. "If I have compensated correctly for the interference from the decking around us, then there are Cardassian life signs, heading this way," she whispered, just as the communicator beeped in Trip's zipped up pocket. He hauled it out and flipped it open.

"Malcolm?" he whispered.

"Team's coming your way. Good luck, Commander."

Trip cracked it shut and then fiddled with the edge of it before sliding it back into his pocket. He zipped it closed and leaned back against the wall more heavily.

"Pell, be a sweetheart and stay quiet, ok?" he whispered.

She bit her lip and her grip tightened on his arm. He put a hand over hers warmly, his eyes staring into the darkness, trying to make out any of the others. But all he felt was apprehension from the adult he knew to be directly in front of him.

There was a banging sound directly outside, which he correctly identified as boots on grating. Pell hiccupped in a breath and he slid his arm round her, squeezing her tighter to his side.

"Then check again!" came a gruff voice, making Pell jump and snatch at his front. She squeezed tightly and turned her face into his uniform. Any noise she did make was muffled easily.

"Sir, we've looked all over this section. There are no traces of Bajoran life signs."

"There must be! The other two teams have found nothing. If you wanted to hide people, where would it be?"

_Under the radiation decking, in the shielded exhaust port_, Trip answered for him. He held his breath.

Something scraped against the vent right behind him and he stiffened. Pell whimpered and he closed his eyes, hoping against hope that they hadn't heard it.

Another sound rang in the small compartment, causing the others to stir awake in fright. A long, deathly pause caught the darkened hole and the mix of officers and fugitives. Something banged on the hatch right behind Trip's head.

"Another door, sir."

"Help me get it off."

"How does it come off?"

"How should I know? Try pulling that edge."

Trip snatched up Pell and all but shoved her backwards, hoping it was Nevro catching at her in the pitch. He shuffled back, herding people back against the far wall as he knelt dead centre, pulling his phase pistol.

Something leaned on him from his left and without a shadow of a doubt he knew it was Vulcan.

"Go for the head," he growled.

There was no reply, but a cold prickle of awareness stole over his shoulders and the hair at the back of his head: an icy calm was masking an affronted anger crouching right by his side. He swallowed.

The vent moved, the inside panel held. Trip heard Pell and Metarh whimpering and moving, knew Nevro and Gree were shuffling away from the pair with weapons.

The inside panel shot up, revealing two guns in front of two grey, ridged faces.

The left face grinned in triumph. "Put your weapons down."

Four weapons fired.

Light and fire. Screaming and noise. Turmoil, shouting.

Then nothing.

Trip blinked in the harsh light, feeling the recycled oxygen already replacing the hot, breathed air of the tiny hiding place.

Smoke rose from the inside of the hatch where someone's shot had missed. But it was empty.

He crawled forward, phaser first, poking both it and his head out of the hatchway. Two Cardassians lay stunned on the decking, their weapons a few feet away from insensate hands. He frowned and swivelled round, jumping out of the hatch feet-first.

"Miss Bahla, kids, everyone - we gotta move, _now_," he urged.

He was conscious of a white feeling of pain starting to buzz in his left arm. He decided he didn't have time to think about it just now. Hushed tears and worried adults appeared from the gap, until Trip was looking at them all.

"Right. We gotta find some new place to hide. I think--." He stopped short as a cold fear gripped him. "Where's T'Pol?"

He pushed his phaser at Nevro hurriedly, turning to the hatch and putting his hands to the sides. He poked his head in and his breath stopped at the sight.

T'Pol, beautiful T'Pol, lying in green blood.

.

.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note:_

_And now we're seriously into AU territory: no wedding ever took place on Vulcan, no explanations for Bond-like activities were ever given, and no White-Space moments ever happened._

_But Han Solo still shot first._

.

.

**SEVEN**

.

"It seems you were right, Archer," Gul Sokor grudgingly admitted. "My men have failed to report finding any Bajorans."

"I did try to tell you," Archer shrugged. "Maybe next time we can save a lot of trouble by actually trusting what each other has to say."

"Maybe," Sokor nodded. He turned to his left. "Recall the search teams."

"If there's anything else we can help you with--"

"You can turn around and go home, Archer. The galaxy doesn't want you out here," he snapped. He leaned forward and pressed a button. The viewscreen snapped back to space.

Archer blew out a huff and sat back in his chair with an audible flump. He looked over at Hoshi. "Any word from our smuggling teams?"

"Hess reports all three in his care are unharmed, and no sign of any Cardassians," she breathed, coloured with relief.

"And Trip?"

.

* * *

.

Trip turned and looked at Nevro. "Take the kids, follow the decking here back out the way we came - do you remember the way?"

"I do," she said quickly. "Commander - your arm--"

"Then follow it till you reach the intersection. Turn _right_, you hear me? _Right_. There's another hatch like this. Get in and lock it up, all of you."

"What about you?" Pell squealed.

"T'Pol's hurt - you go ahead, I've got to get her down to Sickbay," he snapped. "Go."

Nevro ordered the children to join hands, looking at Gree. He simply turned away, unimpressed, and she harried the children in front of her, catching him up.

Trip scrambled back in through the hatch, cursing as he collapsed on his knees next to the unconscious Vulcan. The light from the open hatch revealed a large, nasty burn just over her right hip, seeping clear plasma and green blood.

He wiped a hand over his chin, then looked around. With nothing else to use, he unzipped his uniform to the waist, starting to pull it off. Something snagged and caused white-hot pain in his left arm. He hissed and swore, shuffling closer to the hatch to get a good look at the wound seeping red sticky stains into the black cotton. Pulling the blue sleeve off more slowly, he studied the long unsightly burn, revealing an open raw graze in his forearm underneath. He tutted and looked at the ceiling for a long moment before he marshalled his courage and pulled the sleeve off completely. He pulled the black sleeve back to relieve some of the agonising pressure, rolling it to his elbow before tying the blue sleeves tight round his middle.

He gripped the right arm of his black cotton undershirt, tugging and tugging until a stitch finally gave. He continued yanking until it came away in his hand. He slid it off and folded it, leaning over her to press it to the open wound. He put his left hand to the grating beyond her, looking under her back and finding an exit wound.

"Dammit," he grunted. He removed the cotton and instead leaned over to push it up underneath, pressing it to the exit wound still seeping green blood.

Her eyelids fluttered and she stirred. As he assessed the damage and thought about how to reach for his communicator, he realised it was in the arm pocket - the pocket in the sleeve he had just tied round the other one.

"Commander," she rasped.

He jumped and looked underneath him, realising how compromising it might look to someone just waking up.

"Now just hold on, T'Pol," he began hastily, "you've been winged. I'm just trying to stop you leaking."

"There is blood?" she asked weakly.

"A bit," he lied. He kept his left hand on the bandage, leaning back and yanking the sleeves on his uniform open. He found the communicator and snapped it open so fast it was a wonder the top didn't fly off. "Tucker to anyone that can hear me!"

"Commander! It's Hoshi - I've been trying to reach you," she responded, sounding surprised and agitated.

Trip kicked himself for forgetting he had turned off the sound while hiding.

"Archer to Tucker," came a new voice. "What's your status, Trip?"

"Two stunned Cardassians about to wake up and T'Pol injured," he rattled. "Need a coupla real big MACOs with guns and Phlox."

There was a pause. "They're on their way," Archer replied urgently. "Phlox has two crewman in Sickbay already - can T'Pol make it on her feet?"

"I can," she ground out, but her breath was short.

"My ass," Trip challenged.

T'Pol's eyebrows went up as she attempted to divine why he was suggesting random body parts when he should have been volunteering to help her walk.

"Cap'n, I'll get her to Sickbay. Just make sure they're ready for her. Clean shot, looks like maybe an energy weapon, went right through her side."

"I'll get on it. Hurry, Commander."

_Don't need to tell me twice_, he silently snapped, pushing the communicator into his right trouser pocket and zipping it shut.

"It would be wise to check on the Cardassians first," she urged, but she paused to drag in air and he felt a chill go through him.

"We'll multi-task and do it on the way - and MACOs are comin'," he grunted, sliding his left arm under her knees. He couldn't stop the hiss of pain at the contact with his injury, bleeding nicely.

"That blood is - is red," she stated. "Are you injured?"

He didn't answer, clamping his mouth shut and sliding his right arm under her shoulders.

"I should remain still. It is quite painful," she managed roughly.

"Sorry darlin', but you're going to have to hang onto me while I get you out of this Hell hole."

She ignored the affectionate term, reminding herself he had also used it when talking to Pell. "Why are you apologising?" she replied, focusing on him to help rise above the pain.

"Cos I know how you hate people touching you, and this is pretty much me all over you," he allowed tersely, lifting her slightly.

"I do not regard you - as - as merely - 'people'. And while it is - n-necessary, it is not - not - altogether disagreeable," she whispered, obviously in great pain.

Trip winced. "Any other day o' the week, I'd be on the outside of that hatch doin' my very best Victory Dance at you having admitted that," he managed with false cheer, trying to tease her. "But right now, I'm just gonna settle for reminding you that you actually said that one day."

"I would settle for a - b-biobed, if you would apply the strength I know you - you - have," she grunted.

He let his jaw snap shut and simply heaved her up, shuffling out on his knees and bending over her to fit through the hatchway. He paused, one boot on the floor, one still folded under him inside the hatch, as he looked up to find a single Cardassian holding a weapon on them.

"A Vulcan," he leered, smiling at the fallen woman in Trip's arms. "And a… What are you?" he inquired.

"A might pissed off, to tell the truth," he growled.

"Is that a joke?"

"It's a warning," Trip shot back angrily, pain igniting his temper. "If she's permanently injured, I'm coming over there and wiring your entire ship to pressure cook the lot of you to death."

"Trip," T'Pol admonished, but it was barely a whisper.

"Don't tell me, she's your commanding officer," the Cardassian sneered. "Not that I care. I saw you in there - tell me, were there Bajorans in there with you?"

"We have a saying where I'm from," Trip glowered.

"And what's that?"

"Kiss my ass."

The Cardassian appraised him for a half-second, then began to chuckle. "Oh! You are certainly entertaining at point blank range. Do they have a saying for what's about to happen to you?" he asked, waving the weapon slightly.

Trip's face lifted into a malicious smile, full of warning. "Yeah, actually they do."

The Cardassian snorted with amusement. "And what is it?"

"Saved by the MACO."

A beam of light shot out and rammed into the obtuse alien. He sank to the ground, unconscious, and Trip breathed a sigh of relief. He looked up at the gangway above them and the two grey uniforms watching him.

"Thanks!"

"No problem, sir," the closest MACO nodded, shouldering his rifle securely. "The other search parties have left. We have orders to get the two Cardassians to the Brig."

"Find the other Bajorans too - they're scared witless," he called, but he was already adjusting his hold on T'Pol.

"Yes sir," the MACO barked, haring off to find the stairs down.

Trip didn't answer. He heaved himself and T'Pol out of the hatchway properly. She made an effort to stand but crumpled, her head falling back to reveal she was unconscious. He caught her effortlessly, swinging her off the floor and heading off down the decking to the far door, not looking back.

.

* * *

.

Archer paced the Bridge, hands as fists at his sides.

"Now what are they doing?" he demanded.

Hoshi looked at her console, running her fingers over it deftly. "They're… arguing, sir. Sounds like…" Her face coloured. "He's casting doubt over the race of the officer's mother, sir," she managed. "I don't think he's going to be standing very long."

Archer plonked himself down in his chair, rubbing his forehead. He leant over and tabbed a button on the arm. "Archer to Phlox."

"Doctor Phlox, at your service, Captain," came the upbeat voice.

"How are our patients?"

"All five are doing well, Captain. Ensign D'jarro and Corporal Keen are resting, they should be released later - simple concussions caused by altercations with weapon handles, I should think, nothing serious. Mister Gree, our Bajoran guest, will be free to go tomorrow. Commander Tucker sustained a mild injury, but other than being a rather painful burn, I don't think it will cause much trouble. However, preliminary scans suggest T'Pol will need to remain here for a while yet. She lost a lot of blood."

"Will she be ok?"

"She is being looked after, Captain. The humanoid body is an impressive feat of engineering, Vulcans included. She will recover, in due time."

"Captain - we're being hailed," Hoshi interrupted.

Archer snapped off the link to Sickbay and looked over at her. "Let me guess - Sokor?"

Hoshi nodded and the Captain got to his feet slowly, pulling his uniform straight.

"Put him on."

The viewscreen blinked and became the huge grey Cardassian face of Gul Sokor. "Archer! I am missing two men. What have you done with them?"

"Sokor, I'm glad you're still here," Archer announced, his face set into worry. "We have a problem."

"Where are my men?"

"Your men shot one of my officers," he snapped.

"I'm sure they had good reason."

"She was doing her job and your men opened fire on two of my people!" Archer countered.

"Are they dead?" Sokor scoffed.

"No," Archer bit out.

"Then why are you complaining? I want my men."

"Well, that's where we have a problem," the Captain said, forcing patience where there was anger. "You see, they were on my vessel, an Earth ship, when they injured her - a Vulcan."

"So? Give me my men!"

"Well that means Earth and Vulcan are going to want to know why you were carrying weapons on my ship."

"We were searching! What do I care for Earth or Vulcan? I've never even heard of this 'Earth'!"

"When I report this to my superiors, I know exactly what they're going to say," Archer shrugged helplessly. "They're going to order me to take the men to Vulcan to stand trial."

"You can't do that!" Sokor spluttered. "They are Cardassian!"

"And those phantom missing people of yours are allegedly Bajoran, but you appear to have the right to take them back to your home world for trial," Archer observed. "By the way - you didn't find them, did you?" he asked, his face a picture of polite hope.

"I can't be sure, not all of my team has been returned!" Sokor cried angrily.

"That _is_ a difficulty," he 'hmm'ed, frowning in apparent thought. "So. We have one injured Vulcan, and two Cardassians in the Brig for attempted murder. And you have… nothing," he blinked, perplexed, looking back up at the viewscreen.

Sokor stared at him in a way that would have stripped Trellium-D from the hull without effort. "I need to confer with my superiors," he snapped. He pressed a button and the screen switched to the now familiar vista of space.

Archer blew out a huff and sank into his chair gratefully. He turned and looked at Hoshi. "Ensign?"

"Sir," she nodded.

"Get me Commander Tucker. I want a way to slip out of here without those Cardassians being able to follow us," he grumped.

"Yes sir."

.

* * *

.

"Bridge to Doctor Phlox," Hoshi's voice announced throughout Sickbay.

The Denobulan turned from the biobed and walked to the wall the next bed over, pressing the button on the comms unit.

"Hoshi! Good afternoon. What can I do for you, hmm?" he beamed.

"I'm trying to locate Commander Tucker - he's not back in Engineering yet and we need him."

"He is in my care right now," he nodded. "Would you like me to relay that he should be on the Bridge or in Engineering?"

"Bridge, please," came Hoshi's grateful response. "Bridge out."

Phlox nodded briskly and turned to the furthest biobed. T'Pol was sedated and doing well, but the tall figure haunting her side kept looking from her face to the medical readouts on the screen over her head and back again. Phlox glided over silently, stopping just behind him. He looked over the dusty, used uniform still tied round his middle, one sleeve missing on his black shirt and the other rolled up to reveal the large white bandage covering his forearm.

"I assure you, Commander, she will be fine with me," he said softly.

"I know," Trip shrugged confidently.

Phlox smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "You are needed on the Bridge."

"Yeah." He sounded far away to the doctor's ears.

"Commander," Phlox said gently.

Trip took a step back from the bed, looking at him. His face was outwardly calm, but his sagging eyebrows announced his worry. Now he had the human's full attention, Phlox knew the one word that would rouse him from his worried fog.

"Bridge."

"I got it. Ok, I got it," Trip nodded, rubbing the heel of his hand in his eye wearily as if it needed screwing back in. "I'm going."

He turned and hurried out of Sickbay without a backward glance. Phlox watched the doors close behind him, then turned and clasped his hands together, looking down at the sleeping Vulcan.

"It breaks my heart to know you didn't see that," he sighed, sighed. Then he shook his head and turned to the next biobed, checking the sleeping crewmember.

.

* * *

_Apologies for the Star Wars reference in the notes. Couldn't resist_.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note:_

_AU status: no wedding ever took place on Vulcan, no explanations for Mating Bond-ish activities were ever given, and no White Space moments ever happened._

_And crackers still don't matter, John Crichton._

.

* * *

.

**EIGHT**

.

Trip bounded into the lift and grasped the handle, belatedly remembering he was still technically out of uniform. As the lift sped along he undid the sleeves still tied around his middle and pulled the jumpsuit up and back on his right arm. He pulled it carefully over Phlox's best triage on his left, rolling the blue cuff up to his elbow to prevent it catching on the good doctor's efforts.

He had the front of his uniform zipped up halfway as the doors opened and he spilled out onto the Bridge.

"Trip - you ok?" Archer asked quickly, taking in the unkempt hair and the uniform that sported small patches of both red and green blood, not to mention dust and grease.

"Good enough," the engineer replied.

Archer rose from his seat. He tipped his head at Malcolm and then waved Trip to the tactical table behind his chair. Malcolm and Trip followed him round to the large console, stopping opposite him.

"I've got him stalled, but not for long," Archer said urgently. "I need to find a way to head into warp and make sure he can't find us."

"We're running, sir?" Malcolm asked, clearly aggrieved. "It strikes me that he's never going to stop searching if we just disappear."

"He can search all he wants. I'm hoping I can use the two of his men in the Brig to our advantage somehow."

"I can think of a good use for 'em," Trip muttered. "Been meanin' to test the airlock seals for months."

Malcolm eyed him and then looked at the Captain, finding him similarly curious.

"Something bothering you, Commander?" Archer asked carefully.

Trip looked at him, opened his mouth, and then huffed it closed. He looked back down at the large console under his fingers, but then his head came up again.

"We had kids in there, sir. _Kids_. And these two men must have known it, but they just started firing on us. What kinda people _are_ they?" he demanded angrily.

"If they're anything like their Captain, I can only imagine," Archer sighed, noticing his engineer's accusing glare sink to the console again. He was about to ask if there were some other reason Trip appeared to be taking it personally, but Malcolm cleared his throat with the utmost politeness.

"Maybe we should just beam them back over there and sneak out of here, sir," the tactical officer nodded.

"Well whatever I decide, we need to find a way to sneak out of here. That's your department, Trip. How do we stop them following us?" Archer asked.

The engineer looked up at him but then avoided his gaze, running a tongue over his lower lip and frowning to himself.

"I could… muddy the warp signature a little. Make it look like a Klingon ship, maybe. Or fragment it, make it harder to track if we zig-zagged a little," he sighed heavily to himself.

"Sounds like a start," Archer nodded. "How soon could you make it work?"

Trip looked back at him slowly, calculating things behind his eyes, and Archer waited, knowing great battles with physics and anti-matter were going on in his friend's head.

"Sir, permit me the liberty, and I'm not an engineer," Malcolm said slowly, "but wouldn't changing our signature to look like someone else's still give them a trail to follow? They're clearly not stupid, and this probably isn't the first time they've been bounty hunters. Shouldn't we be looking for a way to distract them while we make our escape, or fool them into following a completely different course?"

Archer appraised his tactical officer, realising that, once again, he had underestimated the Englishman's penchant for cutting to the heart of the matter and building from basics.

"You're right, Malcolm. Trip? What can you do?"

"Decoy…" the fair-haired officer was muttering to himself. "Hmm… I might have summin that could give us… say… a few minutes on 'em?"

"That could be enough to drop out of warp, mix our trail in amongst… something like a large planet's atmosphere… and then vector off - assuming we could disguise our signature before they got there," Malcolm said eagerly.

"Got it," Trip cried, snapping his fingers and darting from the table. He slewed round the corner and headed for the lift. He stopped short. "Oh - permission to go and--"

"Go!" Archer called after him.

.

* * *

.

T'Pol opened her eyes gradually, expecting the harsh lights of Sickbay. Instead she found a whiteness, a blank space that did not hurt her eyes at all.

She found herself sitting and realised she had retreated to the comfortable place she often haunted during meditation. She stood leisurely, looking around. She was surprised to catch sight of a dark blue Starfleet uniform behind her from the corner of her eye. She turned, finding the wearer with his back to her, looking down at himself. He appeared to be rubbing his left forearm slowly, before he stopped and let it drop. He sighed to himself and looked around the blankness, his hands on his hips.

She reached out and touched his shoulder gently.

Trip jumped about three inches in the air, spinning around and seeing her watching him with the nearest thing to a show of amusement she would allow herself.

"Hey, here y'are," he grinned. "Er -wherever here is."

"It is a safe place," she managed, confused herself.

"Right. Safest place I know is under the reinforced bulkhead running through the plating over my desk in Engineerin', but hey," he shrugged helplessly.

"We would appear to be… not in Engineering," she stated with a marked lack of confidence, he noticed.

He looked around, his hands stealing onto his hips as he thought about something. It was silent for some moments, Trip trying to study the nothingness, T'Pol studying him.

"Then if this idn't _my_ safest place, it's yours," he realised, turning to look at back her.

"A logical deduction," she admitted, inclining her head slightly.

He sniffed, looking over her head and trying to stop his fingers from drumming over his uniform.

"You appear agitated," she observed, and as he looked down at her, he could swear she almost looked relieved at having something to say.

He took a fortifying breath. "I was worried."

"Worried?" she prompted, folding her hands behind her back comfortably.

"Well - Phlox said it was bad. I'm not sure what all that medical stuff means, but I know the word 'bad' when I hear it," he managed, his face creasing in anguish. "And if you're in this place, your 'happy place'," he added, his hands dropping to gesture to the whiteness around them, "you're not ok, right?"

"I will be healed in time," she stated. "Two days, perhaps three, and I will be back at my post."

"You scared the crap outta me," he blurted suddenly.

She took a step back, appraising his alarmed expression, the way his eyes sagged at the sides, making him look not unlike a juvenile sehlat missing its favourite attack-and-chew toy.

"Could you elaborate?" she dared.

"It's just that… I thought you were really hurt. Like… really," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "And… I didn't like it."

"Feelings of worry for your colleagues make you the good man that you are. But you should not have worried, Commander."

"Y'know," he said slowly, gazing at her with soft, hurt eyes. "You'd call me 'Trip' if you really meant it."

The expression on his face, knowing that this was a moment she did not want to let slip by, wanting to assure him that she appreciated what he had done - it all clouded her mind.

_It was possible I would die_, she realised. _And yet I was not afraid. There was no fear to suppress. Was it because he was with me?_

He was still watching her with apparent discomfort, and she suddenly knew without a doubt that he felt distanced from her, as if he were on the outside of the members-only pool looking in, watching her swimming confidently all by herself and just wishing, just _hoping_ that one day he would get an invite to the warm water.

"Then - Trip--" she said boldly, stepping closer, "I am indebted to you for your help today." She reached a hand up and turned his face down toward hers, pressing an unhurried kiss into his cheek warmly.

He closed his eyes, savouring the touch, the warmth, the exotic scent of her proximity. His hand went to her elbow, as if to keep her close.

"I could not have made it to Sickbay on my own," she added as she pulled her lips away slightly. He opened his eyes and gazed down at her, and she studied the stormy windows to his soul. _So close, so accessible_…

"I'm just glad you're ok," he said softly, making no move to be closer nor further away. "Wouldn't be the same round here without you."

She let her hand slide from his face, lacing it behind her again. She took a discreet step back from his presence.

"Your admission is… insightful," she admitted.

"Insightful? Great!" he blustered, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's not _important_, or _meaningful_, or _good to know_, or _attractive_, or even _romantic_, it's just _insightful_!"

"It could be considered all of those things," she said simply.

He huffed and his mouth opened to release further Tucker commentary on the subject.

But she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "As could you."

He stopped short, instead gaping at her in a way she had seen only once before. Unbidden, the image of his face as she had discarded her robe and leapt on him, in her quarters, came to mind and she was lost for a few seconds. By the time she had marshalled her thoughts into a decent excuse for focus and looked up, he was looking straight up, as if the answers to the universe were written in the whiteness above them.

She waited, wondering if he were trying to rein in thoughts just as she had done moments before. Having against lost concentration, she almost jumped as he let his head drop again. His hands went back to his hips, his gaze sliding round the lack of colour around them.

"So… Before all this fades out or I wake up from his bizarre dream or whatever, you gonna admit you liked it?" he asked with faint amusement, his head tilting to one side.

"Liked what?"

"Me carrying you to Sickbay."

"It was preferable to walking."

"I'll say it was - you had hold of my neck the whole way."

"It was the most logical way to prevent falling from your hold. Your exertions were bouncing me quite hard."

She paused, caught off guard, as he burst into heart-felt laughter. However, she found it hard not to enjoy the sound of his abderian merriment.

"May I inquire as to the source of your amusement, Commander?"

He put his hands on his knees, still chuckling but getting his breath back. She noticed his face was a little red from the exertion, and again her mind wandered back to a certain evening in her quarters.

"It's just - just the way you put it, that's all," he grinned. He straightened again, eyeing her. "So you're alright."

"I will be," she confirmed, wiping memories from her mind lest they rise up and take control.

She opened her mouth to suggest that there were more things to discuss - more things to share if she were being truthful. She stretched her hand out to touch his uniform, to impart at least one flicker of attachment, or gratitude.

But he winked out of sight, as if he had never been. She found herself wishing he had not left her alone.

Again.

She let her hand drop and abruptly, blamed herself for being slow, for not seizing the moment. She vowed, in that second, that she would not be guilty of either fault a second time.

.

* * *

.

"Sir? The specs," Hess repeated, standing politely by the side of the chief engineer.

He had both hands on the edges of the console in front of him, his back out straight. Bent over the screen, he was apparently studying something eighteen inches from his nose very, very carefully.

Hess cleared her throat and waved the PADD in front of her ranking officer's face. There was still no response, and Hess was beginning to think she had caught the Commander after one of his infamous three-days-without-sleep marathons. Either that or the odd maggot treatment that was going on under the new white patch over his left forearm was causing attention side-effects. Hess took a deep breath and slapped the PADD into the man's arm a little firmly.

Trip jumped and shot upright, stepping backwards quickly to regain his balance. He put a hand to his cheek quickly, then stared around the dingy corner of Engineering as if confused he were on his feet.

"Sir?" Hess havered. "Is everything alright, sir?"

"I'll be damned," Trip breathed to himself, pulling his hand from his face and checking the palm as if he expected there to be something on it. His mouth hanging open slightly, he looked around Engineering gradually, as if cataloguing it for further study. His eyes stopped as they encountered Hess. "What?" he asked her warily.

"The specs, sir. Of the Cardassian ship's sensors," she dared. She eyed her commanding officer, who was still looking like he had sneaked a peak in Pandora's Box and found her phone number in it.

"Right!" he said quickly, grabbing the PADD and looking it over quickly. "Ok, this is gonna be easy. It's lucky you're good at field harmonics, Hess, cos today we are going to be outstanding in the face of certain identities."

"Oh…kay, sir," Hess nodded uneasily, noting the large, cocksure grin and a sudden ebullient confidence in the Commander that she hadn't seen since she had first arrived on _Enterprise_. "What are we going to do?"

"We," said Trip, slapping his hands together and rubbing them in a manner that suggested evil plans were afoot, "are going to mess with their sensors. We need to disperse our warp signature over a wider area than normal - after we've turned it a little Klingon."

"Sir?"

"Warp spectrums, Hess - colours," he grinned. "Today is a good day to dye. Hey! That almost _sounded_ Klingon!" he cried cheerfully.

"Yes sir," she allowed in a resigned fashion, realising it was going to be one of those shifts in Engineering.

.

* * *

.

_Yes, a Farscape reference in the notes this time. Again, apologies._

.

**A BIG THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments and reviews. I do read them all very carefully and I do try to act on those that offer criticism. Thanks, you readers, you!**


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

.

"Sir - he's getting impatient. And rude," Hoshi added with distaste.

"Know any good Klingon insults?" Archer replied genially.

"Klingon, sir?"

"Klingon, Ensign," he nodded with a strange little smile.

"Wha--. Ah, a few, I think, sir."

"Then brush up. And tell him to wait - in English," he allowed graciously, with a cant of the head she took to mean great plans were coming together.

"Aye, sir." She relayed the message to the _Lakarian_, unsurprised to get insults in return. She punched a button next to her vehemently, running through her personal list of choices for Klingon rudeness.

Archer sat down, ignoring the eager look from Lieutenant Reed. He knew without looking that Malcolm's hand was paused over the tactical alert signal. The Captain pushed a button on his chair arm.

"Bridge to Engineering. Trip? How long?"

"Minute, Cap'n - you sure you want Klingon? I can do Suliban in a pinch."

"Klingon will be fine, Commander," he allowed.

He stood slowly, squared his shoulders, stopped his hands from clenching and unclenching, and looked at Hoshi.

"Ensign," he said confidently. "Put him on."

Hoshi pressed the requisite buttons and the viewscreen flickered into large, angry Cardassian life.

"Archer! How long are you--"

"Gul Sokor," Archer said pleasantly. "Have you had time to confer with your masters?"

"_Superiors_," Sokor snapped hotly.

"Yes. Them."

"I have! And we want our men released or we will fire on your ship!"

"That's it? You'll fire on my ship?" Archer asked, displaying complete confusion.

"What?" Sokor managed.

"Well… It's just that… No, no, forget it," Archer smiled, waving his hand at him and backing up to his chair.

"What?" the Cardassian cried. "It's just what?"

"Nothing. Well - alright. It's just that every time we get into a fight with some alien, we scream at each other for a while, we trade insults, we threaten, and then we bargain. And then it degenerates into a shooting match, we win, and then we carry on," Archer nodded. "I never thought you'd fold so fast."

"What are you talking about!"

"We're about to argue, because I am not letting those two men go, and you're not going to let me leave with them," Archer shrugged, giving his chair a glance before sitting slowly. "We'll open fire on each other - you first, of course - and we'll damage your engines. Then we'll warp off to Vulcan, leaving you spinning out here until your engineer can fix the damage."

"We will blow your ship from space and call it even," Sokor growled.

"See? The threats. Not a bad one," Archer grinned. "Not very convincing though."

"We have scanned your vessel. We know the weapons you have."

"Yes, you do. And we've scanned your vessel, and we know what weapons you have. And how your engines work. And what it would take to cause a crack in… What was it again? Four? Five?" he asked, looking at Malcolm quickly.

"Five, sir," Malcolm nodded with calm confidence. "One direct hit will do it."

Sokor straightened in his chair. "Do what?"

"Fracture your anti-matter containment cell - number five," Archer said helpfully. "You _do_ know where that is, don't you? About two decks underneath where you're sitting, right now."

Sokor's face began to transform into a rictus of rage. "You alien scum!" he shouted. "I'll tear your ship in two, you--"

"Hoshi," Archer barked. The face disappeared from the viewscreen. "Travis, now!"

The ship leapt forward as if kicked, ducking under the two warships in front of her and gliding out toward space. A second later it jumped into warp.

Archer sat back in his chair, pressing a button. "Engineering?"

"Here, sir."

"Open her up, Commander, top speed - we want them close enough to know it's us they're following, but not enough to see us properly."

"Consider it done."

Archer looked up and took a deep breath. "Malcolm? How close are they?"

"Four minutes, sir."

"Shout when they reach three point five."

"Aye, sir."

It was silent, save the tiny beeps and noises of the consoles.

"Engineering, stand by," Archer barked.

"Standin' by, sir."

"Travis - let the helm go," Archer ordered.

"Aye, sir." He literally lifted his hands, but watched the readouts.

"Three point six, sir," Malcolm advised.

Archer reached for his chair arm, and the comms button. "Engineering - phase one, Commander."

"Phase one, sir," Trip confirmed. "And… she's away. Streamin' like a good'un."

"Three point five, Captain," Malcolm announced.

Archer pushed the button in the chair. "Now, Commander!"

_Enterpris__e_ slammed out of warp. She began to roll hard right.

"Lieutenant Reed - open doors to cargo bay two," Archer ordered. "Blow it empty."

"Aye, sir!"

A cloud of ripped, twisted metal and debris was ejected from the cargo bay as the air rushed out to spread itself around the vacuum of space.

"Engineering?"

"We're good to go."

"Travis - bearing 118 mark 4, top speed," Archer instructed.

The helmsman's fingers flew over the console and the ship once more leapt into action.

Archer sat forward, literally on the edge of his seat, one hand on his knee, watching the viewscreen.

The Bridge, and Engineering, held their breath.

The silence dragged on and on. Eventually, Archer turned to Malcolm.

"Signs?"

"They're still at the debris site, sir. I would think they're analysing the contents, trying to divine the owner. It seems the leaking Trellium-D container Commander Tucker ejected while we were at warp so close to the site is giving them some trouble."

Archer nodded slowly, his thumb rubbing across the knuckles of his free hand slowly. The silence stretched on, until Malcolm looked up again.

"They've found our warp trail, sir. They're in pursuit."

"Time?"

"Eleven minutes, sir."

He pressed his chair arm. "Good work, Commander - we've got eleven minutes to play with. How's our warp signature?"

"Pretty darn sick, sir," Trip's amused voice came back. "Looks like we've sustained heavy damage and we're limping best we can to the nearest planet. As long as we reach phase two before they do, we're home free."

"Hope you've got your fingers crossed," Archer grunted, snapping off the connection. "Malcolm - time to the atmosphere?"

"Six minutes and counting, sir."

"Travis - we have to drop out of warp _in the rings_ for this to work."

"Aye, sir." Travis readied his fingers, sitting up slightly straighter in the seat and focusing on the readouts.

"Five minutes, twenty seconds, sir," Malcolm stated.

Archer ran a hand over his chin, watching the stars streak by.

"Four minutes, sir."

Hoshi cleared her throat quietly, mentally revising the insulting phrases from her records to control her anxiety.

"Three minutes, sir. Two minutes, thirty seconds. Two minutes. Ninety seconds. Sixty seconds."

"Steady Travis," Archer urged quietly.

"Thirty seconds. Ten."

Travis flexed his fingers and placed them over the console.

"Five, four, three, two--"

Travis' touch ignited the board. _Enterprise_ came to a dead stop.

Archer let his breath go, then nodded. "Take us round the other side - skim the atmosphere."

The ship turned and banked, following the curve of the planet, the trip through the lower stratosphere causing a rumbling vibration that shook every crewmember to their bones.

"Malcolm - how long till they catch up?"

"Six minutes, sir."

"Travis, dead stop."

"Dead stop, sir," he nodded. The ship hung in the turbulent gases, waiting.

"Archer to Engineering. Phase two, now."

"Phase two - done. We are now officially Klingon, sir."

"Travis - take us up, bearing 090 mark 8. Maximum warp."

"Aye, sir."

The ship rocketed off, a very slight unfamiliar keen to the air. Archer looked around, noticed others were straining to hear it more clearly in curiosity, and pressed the button on his chair again.

"Bridge to Engineering - what's that odd noise? It's quiet but it's going to give me a headache if it keeps up all the way to Bajor."

A piercing squeal filled the air and the hands of the Bridge crew very nearly left their consoles to cover ears.

"_Sorry Cap'n, what?_" Trip shouted over the noise. "_Can't hear a damn thing down here!_"

"Get everyone out of Engineering before they go deaf!" Archer called loudly.

"_What? Cap'n, I'm gonna have to get everyone out of here before we go deaf! I'll control things from the Bridge. Engineering out_."

Archer let go of his button quickly, relieved. He turned his chair to Malcolm. "The Cardassian ships?"

"Holding steady at six minutes to the planet, sir," he nodded. "Once they drop out of warp to check for us there, we'll have a much greater lead."

Archer nodded. "I hope so."

.

* * *

.

Trip scrambled out of the door and slammed it quickly, looking at his crew. "Maybe we're just not supposed to warp like Klingons," he offered lamely.

"It's never been tried, sir," Kelby shrugged. "You learn something new every day."

"That's the spirit," he nodded. "Everyone's reassigned to cargo bay one. I want a rundown on the damage to that Bajoran sailship and estimates on how long it'll take to get her spaceworthy again. Go."

The crewmembers straightened and dispersed, leaving him leaning back on the door. The ear-rending screech was still echoing round inside the door and he shivered, pushing himself off to head for the Bridge.

"Commander," came a polite voice, and he looked up to find Bahla watching him, her hands clasped in worry. Her eyes went down to the injury revealed by his rolled up sleeves. "You were hurt. Are you ok now?"

"Yeah, fine, Miss Bahla - look, sorry no-one's been to see you were all tucked in safe, but we had a--"

"I heard," she interrupted softly. "Look, I… I feel terrible about this. Are we running from the Cardassian ships?"

He wet his lips slowly. "Yes."

She sagged and wiped a hand over her face.

"But we're widening the gap every second," he added quickly. "Once they get lost in the planet we just left, they're never gonna find us again."

"Why not?" she asked fearfully.

"We've taken steps," he assured. He gestured to the corridor with his head, starting to walk. "Look, I've got to get to the Bridge right now, but believe me, everything's under control."

"May I come with you? There are a few things the Captain ought to know."

"Well the Bridge ain't really a place for civilians, Miss Bahla," he began as they walked. "And we're kinda busy right now. As soon as we're free, I'm sure he'll want to talk to you about all this."

"But Commander, he doesn't--"

"Miss Bahla - really - it's going to be fine," he reassured her. "Those Cardassians are not going to find us, they're not going to try and steal you off your pilgrimage, and once I've had time to fix your ship then you can--"

"It's not the ship, there's something he needs to--"

"Actually? Miss Bahla? He just needs to do his job right now, and today that job is ferrying innocent Bajorans away from--"

"Commander!" she blurted urgently. He stopped, struck by the hurt in her voice. "It's just… We're not innocent. The warrant they have for myself and my brother… is valid."

Trip's eyes turned fearful as he appraised her in the corridor.

"You mean you really _are_ escaped prisoners?"

"Yes," she whispered, looking at the decking suddenly. "Yes, we are."

"Just what the hell did you do to make it worth their while to come out here and--"

"Murder," she whispered.

.

.


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

.

The lift opened and Trip stepped out, looking at Archer with such a damning expression that the Captain nearly jerked in surprise.

Then Bahla Nevro stepped out behind him and Archer stood. "Miss Bahla, I don't think this is the place for you right now," he managed, shooting a curious look at his chief engineer.

"Sir, we've hit a problem," Trip warned.

Archer looked at him, noticing the hardened look on his face, and decided he really had to know what the hell had possessed the Commander to bring her to the Bridge with him. He walked over and down the steps to the tactical desk, swinging round and pinning Trip with a dark look, his arms folding over his chest.

"What now?" he asked, fully expecting it to be a male-female problem of the human-Bajoran kind, brought on by a certain Starfleet officer being trapped in cramped conditions with such a stunning alien female. A part of him suddenly wanted to smack the apparent ability to charm just about any female alien he wanted right out of his chief engineer. With a nod toward controlling both jealousy and conduct unbecoming a Starfleet Captain, he straightened his back and waited for the inevitable.

But it was Nevro who stepped forward slightly. "Captain - it's my fault. I should have explained to you before all this started," she said quietly. "But I didn't really have a chance to speak to you."

Archer forced his face to appear more accommodating. "What do you need to explain?"

"The Cardassians have a warrant for myself and my brother. Is that what they said?"

"They did," Archer said suspiciously. "And?"

"And they are real. We are both wanted by Cardassia."

"What for?" Archer snapped.

Nevro looked at her feet, but the way Trip's eyes went to the long flat desk instead of his commanding officer's eyes told Archer all he feared could be correct.

"The warrant says 'murder'," she allowed in a whisper.

Archer stiffened. He looked at the slim, wiry woman in front of him, the one whose eyes had spoken to him the moment he had found her and her delightful children in his cargo bay. He tried to imagine her hurting anyone and found himself at a loss.

"Explain," he demanded.

He could see his engineer's gaze centre back on him but blotted out everything save the lady raising her head to look at him.

"My husband and I were… We were on holiday in Dakhur Province, on Bajor. A beautiful place," she said sadly. "We'd only been married two years. Pell was barely one, back at home with my parents, and it was our first holiday since she'd been born."

Trip risked a step back to give her more room, sensing the undisturbed pain of a woman and not really wanting to be too close when it was poked with a stick.

"We were walking from the shops in a village back to the lodge where we were staying - it couldn't have been more than half an hour's stroll. These men - tall, grey - we'd never seen them before. They came past in a vehicle, calling to us. We thought they wanted directions, so we went to help them."

Archer let his arms drop from the tight clench across him. He took a step toward her slowly.

"They didn't want help. They stopped the cruiser and started offering my husband money. For me. There was a scuffle, a fight… My husband was injured but - but he killed one of them." She paused, swallowing. "And then… then the other shot my husband. He lived long enough to see the inside of the hospital in Dakhur. He died cursing the Cardassians and hoping the Prophets would forgive him for what he had done. But… I know he would do it all again if he had to."

Archer looked at the ceiling, then noticed Trip had stolen another pace backwards. He frowned at him, then reached out and put a hand to Bahla's elbow.

"Look, you don't have to tell--"

"I do. You have to know what happened next," she said clearly, looking at him. He felt the anger in her arm and nodded. She cleared her throat but kept her voice down. "I was arrested. The surviving Cardassian swore that I had killed the fallen man. I was tried in a Cardassian court. They only have one judgement, Captain: guilty. The mere fact that it had been on Bajor, my home, and I was nearly raped by visiting soldiers on shore leave wasn't mentioned. I was convicted, and I was told to expect my execution in a single week."

She waited, but there was no reaction from the Captain.

"So I waited. I was not allowed to write to my child, I was not allowed to ask for help or to say goodbye to anyone. I was supposed to just die quietly." She smiled slightly. "If there's one thing a Bajoran does not do, Captain, it is let anyone separate them from their family. And my husband's brother, Gree, understood his responsibility to his brother's family. He broke into my holding area disguised against the Cardassian guard and we escaped."

"So why is Gree wanted for murder too?" Trip blurted.

She turned and looked at him, her head tilting slightly.

"Because we spent a month looking for the officer who had killed my husband and Gree's brother. And then we went to his barracks and waited for him to enter the drinking establishment. And then Gree held him down while I stabbed him through the heart with the hunting dagger that had been my husband's favourite."

Archer swallowed. Trip paled and looked at his Captain quickly. Nevro simply looked at the floor.

"I don't expect you to understand or condone what I did." She let a small, sad sigh escape her. "But you have to know - I knew my husband from childhood. We were those children who were inseparable in the playground, and then at school, and then university. By the time we were twenty-five there was no-one alive who could have torn us apart. It was the will of the Prophets: we were supposed to be together. We married, we worked side by side, we squabbled and pretended we didn't enjoy it. We had the closest friendship, Captain," she said firmly, looking him in the eye. "He was my best friend, the one person I could trust with my secrets, the one person I could look in the eye and know that he understood my very soul. Have you _any idea_ what that feels like?" she whispered.

Archer held her gaze, immobile. She turned on Trip suddenly, assessed his guilty face and realised that perhaps he understood just a little more than he cared to acknowledge in front of his commanding officer.

She put her hand up to his arm, and Trip dared to look at her. Then he whisked his eyes away quickly, as if they had never encountered hers. Archer watched them, lost. But Nevro turned back to look at the taller Captain.

"So yes, I am wanted for murder. And so is Gree. After we killed him, we fled back to Bajor, collected his daughter, Metarh, and were leaving. Another family decided to come with us, not knowing the real reason why we left."

"So… this pilgrimage?" Archer asked carefully.

"We were heading for the Denorios belt," she allowed. "It is supposed to be where the Prophets' connection is strongest. We want to ask for judgement."

"From your gods?" Trip gasped. "Why?"

"Because they have guided us so far," she shrugged. "They are all we have left."

"All you have left?" Trip spluttered. "After they let those aliens kill your husband and--"

"Commander," she interrupted. "I can see how you would not understand. You don't have faith, therefore you can never understand."

"I used to believe, like you did," he shot back with anger. "And then I was failed."

"Trip," Archer snapped.

"It's a crock, Bahla, all of it," Trip growled. "You pray and pray and then what does God do? He lets people kill your family, that's what he does--"

"Trip!" Archer barked.

But the engineer was not done. "I just don't see how you can believe in these Prophets of yours when they didn't look out for your family and then left you to--"

"_Commander!_ If you want to leave the Bridge, just carry on," Archer seethed.

Trip's mouth hung open, as if the next words couldn't decide whether to come out or not. But then his tongue went over his bottom lip and his eyes slid to the decking between his boots.

"Aye, sir," he managed. He looked up at the Bajoran. "I apologise," he added slowly.

But instead of anger, he saw only sadness in her eyes. "_I_ apologise," she replied quietly. "You have lost someone, lost family, and you still need someone to blame. It's only natural," she allowed.

Archer felt his gaze fall on the woman again, drawn to the wisdom in her voice, the calm look of sadness.

"We're still not handing you over to those Cardassians," he said firmly.

Trip looked up swiftly and the bob of fairer hair caught Archer's attention.

"Now hold on a minute, Cap'n," he said quickly, his hands up in surrender. "We're not handing them over if these people have a real warrant?"

Nevro let her head hang, floating a step backwards. Archer drew himself up, eyeing his engineer and friend with a decidedly warning glint in his brown eyes.

"No, we're not," he confirmed.

"Look, I don't like 'em any more than you do, but are we really supposed to be annoying alien peace officers who have the right paperwork?" Trip asked reasonably. The absolute calm in his voice made Archer's hackles rise further.

"You were only too willing to shove both searching _peace officers_ out the airlock earlier on, Commander," he reminded him crisply.

"That's before I knew they had warrants for escaped prisoners," Trip countered.

Archer bit back his caustic reply. He looked at Nevro for a long moment. "Would you excuse us, please?" he asked quietly.

She looked up and met his eyes, nodding quickly. She turned and decided to aim for the turbolift, until she realised Hoshi was waving a hand at her. She changed course and ended up by her console. Hoshi patted the seat next to her and Nevro sat warily.

Archer pulled his gaze from the elegant woman and shoved it full-force back on the younger man. Trip had his hand on the tactical desk, leaning on it and looking like he was ready to unleash a little stress.

"Explain yourself, Commander. Make it good," he hissed.

Trip looked at him and drew in a slight breath first. "All I'm saying is - well, do we really just let them go? After what they did?" he asked carefully. His gaze darted from one of his Captain's eyes to the other as his voice lowered to prevent the entire Bridge hearing them. "I mean, come on, they killed a man. Between them. Planned it, did it, saw it through with purpose. What does that make them?"

"She's not some raving psychotic killer," Archer snapped.

"I can see that. All I'm saying is, should they be allowed to get away with it?"

Archer stared at him openly for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. "They think they're off to receive judgement from the ultimate higher power in their religion. Doesn't that show they're offering to atone?"

"To who? Some non-existent gods hanging round some Denorios belt?" Trip snapped. "So I could just go sauntering off into Xindi space, plan the murder of whichever bastard that set off that weapon, frying _millions_ of people _including my sister_, go back to Earth and tell people, hey, it's ok, I'm just going to ask God if he wants to strike me down with lightning for what I did?"

Archer's hand came up and grabbed the younger man's upper arm in a painfully tight grip. He dragged him closer, his eyes seething anger at him.

"One of the luxuries of being Captain is that you don't judge anyone's religion," he hissed. "Whether or not these gods of theirs exist is not our concern. The fact that _she_ believes they do, and is actively seeking _their_ punishment, should point to a certain amount of guilt over what she did."

Trip pulled his arm free with a slight tug, watching him.

"Tell me this, Trip," Archer added, much more controlled, "what if that Xindi responsible had been arrested and brought to Earth just two weeks after the attack? What if he'd been stood _right in front of you_ at the queue for the shuttle. What would you have done? Ignored him? Walked away?"

Trip stared back at the Captain with a look Archer had seen only a few times before. It had chilled his soul then, just as it did now.

"No, didn't think so," Archer allowed quietly. "But then, if you had, you wouldn't have been the human I know."

The engineer looked away, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

It was silent a long moment until Archer cleared his throat. "So no, we're not taking them back to the Cardassians. Even if they have a warrant. Because that's not justice."

Trip avoided his gaze, shaking his head slightly.

"We will keep them here on board while their ship is repaired and we outrun the Cardassians, Commander. Those are my express orders."

"Yes sir," Trip nodded, but it was entirely too professional for Archer's liking. The Captain let himself sigh on the inside. He opened his mouth but a new voice entered the fray.

"Captain?" Hoshi's voice floated over the Bridge. The two men looked up and turned to see her worrying over something on her screen.

"What is it, Ensign?"

"You might want to see some of the information I found in the Vulcan database on the Cardassian judicial system - such as it is."

Archer gave Trip one more warning glance before striding past him and over to Hoshi's station. He put a hand on the railing and peered down to the details on the screen. His eyes skimmed down and his face began to drain of colour. He straightened slowly, looking at Nevro.

"If I wasn't sure before, I certainly am now," he breathed. "We're keeping you out of their hands."

Nevro nodded, but she seemed a little wary. Archer looked over at Trip. He had both hands on the tactical console, his head dangling on his neck in a way that suggested to his Captain that he was not at all swayed by direct orders.

"Commander Tucker," he called, prepared for a face-off.

But Trip didn't look up from the desk. "We should just take them back to Bajor - let their own people sort it out," he sighed. "But we can't even do that, can we?" he added with a large dollop of resignation.

Archer nodded his thanks at Hoshi before walking back over. "Thoughts?" he dared.

Trip tilted his head to glance at him from the corner of his eye and Archer appreciated the effort to look at him.

"If they believe we actually have them on board, Cap'n? They'll work out we're takin' them home. Then it won't matter what fancy angles or engine colours we make, they'll just head off to Bajor. And if they have real warrants, the Bajoran government or whatever will have to hand them over."

"What if… we're far from here, on the way to the Denorios belt, and we set them free in their sailship? I didn't see them, you didn't see them, they were never here."

"If those are your orders," Trip allowed. He hissed out a long sigh. "I'd better go check on the repairs then, see about speeding them up."

"Commander," Archer said quickly, and he stopped to look back at him. "Just… look at this as if I had to keep _you_ from being arrested by Xindi authorities. We may have fooled the Cardassians for long enough to get clear of them. The plan's working. For now."

"And if it doesn't?" he asked wearily.

Archer considered for a moment. "We still have two of his men to bargain with."

"And you think _I_ have a vicious streak," Trip snorted, turning and walking off.

Bahla looked at Archer, getting to her feet and crossing toward him. "I have brought so much trouble down on you all," she acknowledged. "Please forgive me."

"It seems to me," he said slowly, "that a while ago you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it also seems to me that _we_ were in the _right_ place at the _right_ time to help you. If we hadn't come by, who would have rescued you?"

She smiled slightly, stopping in front of him. "The Prophets."

"And they wouldn't have made it necessary for us to change course around a gas giant and just happen to be in range of your distress beacon?" he smiled.

Bahla shook her head, smiling widely. She looked up at him. "You have a way with words, Captain."

"Jonathan," he admitted quietly.

She folded her arms slowly. "Then you must call me Nevro."

"Then… As long as we're making good time away from the Cardassians, now would be a good chance to go be with your children," he nodded.

"Thank you." She turned to go. "Oh, I don't wish to appear rude, but… would you have food to spare?"

"Spare?" he prompted, then shook himself, remembering the size of their craft. "Yes - of course. I'll have T'Pol take you down to the Me--." He stopped abruptly as the casual swing of his head took in the empty chair at the science station. "I mean, ah… I'll have someone take you down to the Mess Hall."

She turned to see where he had looked, and then back to him. "Oh. Your injured crewmember. I feel so bad about all this, Jonathan."

"Don't. She'll be fine," he asserted. "Assuming this goes to plan… would you and your family enjoy dinner at the Captain's table?" he asked quietly.

Her smile came out again and she regarded him with warm eyes. "I would like that, Jonathan. _We_ would like that," she added.

"Well then. Let's just hope we outrun these Cardassians."

"Yes. Let's."

.

.

* * *

_**The reviews and comments are deeply appreciated - thank you, everyone!**_


	11. Chapter 11

**ELEVEN**

.

.

"Lieutenant," Archer said, turning to the turbolift and waving the way to Nevro, "you have the Bridge while I check on repairs to the Bajoran sailship."

"Aye, sir," Malcolm nodded.

Archer showed her to the lift. As the doors closed he took a deep breath, letting it all out.

"So," he said, forcing geniality where there was weariness. "Seems like your people have been out here in space for a long time."

"We have had interstellar craft for a few hundred years, yes," she smiled. "What about your people?"

"Humans have… not," he allowed. "This is the first ship we've managed to put together that works - and will do warp five."

"Forgive me, Jonathan, but is warp five impressive?"

He smiled. "It's a milestone for us." The lift came to a gentle stop.

"This ship is certainly very big," she nodded, as he gestured for her to leave the lift first.

"It is. Sometimes Porthos gets lost, running around the wrong deck. How he gets the lifts to work for him I'll never work out," he sighed.

"Porthos?"

"My dog. --A pet," he allowed.

She grinned. "You have a pet? How charming. I hope I get to meet him before we have to leave."

"You like animals?" he asked as they walked down the corridor.

"I do. When I was a girl I had a palukoo. Everyone hated it - and I think that's why I kept it, just to be perverse. It was with me for… oh, ten years."

"Really? I guess you were pretty upset when it passed away. I don't know what I'd do without Porthos."

"I wasn't that upset, really. It tasted really good," she chuckled. He gasped at her, then began to grin.

"Well I don't know if I should let you run into my dog. I don't want to know what he'd taste like," he teased. He stopped at the large dull grey door and pressed a button. "Here we are. Cargo bay one," he announced as the door whooshed open.

She stepped in first, noticing the dark blue uniforms scurrying about her ship.

"Oh my," she whispered.

"Something wrong?" Archer asked, confused.

"No, it's just that… Well, all this trouble over us," she sighed. "I really don't know how to thank you. You've been so kind to us, and all we've done is bring Cardassian warships after you."

"Cardassian ships we've managed to avoid so far," he said brightly. "And anyway, this is what we do - we try to help out where we can, for a small price, of course."

She looked at him, alarmed, and he flashed his most charming grin, raising his eyebrows. "A look at your technology."

"I should have known you'd want a peek at my engines," she smiled, relaxing.

"We do. When I say we, I mean Mister Tucker. He just loves crawling around, comparing and learning about new systems. Let's see if we can't find him and get him to tell us the damage repair schedule," he nodded, leading them across the large hangar.

Archer stopped, peering around. "Ah - Hess," he called, noticing the engineer emerge from the door to the ship.

"Sir," she nodded.

"Any idea where the Commander is?"

"He's gone off duty, sir. We have a list of items he wants us to get done before he returns."

"Has he given you an idea of a time scale?"

"Wouldn't like to second-guess him, sir, but he thinks as a little as a week."

"Right," Arched replied. "Best get to it then."

Hess nodded and turned away. Archer put his hands on his hips, apparently non-plussed.

"You seem surprised," Nevro observed.

"I am. Sometimes you need a crowbar to separate Mister Tucker from his work," he muttered to himself.

"Perhaps he has something else more important than engines to worry about," she said wisely.

Archer looked at her. "You don't know the Commander very well," he teased.

She watched Archer walk past, back toward the door. She looked at the floor, cast her mind back to Sickbay, and then looked up at him.

"Maybe you don't either," she breathed to herself, turning to follow him.

.

* * *

.

Her eyes blinked open and she found herself in Sickbay. The lights were low, the only sounds those of Phlox's many small companions in various cages, slumbering patients on other biobeds and--

She paused as she realised a warm weight was trapping her Starfleet-issue blanket to the bed. She managed to inch herself up slightly and look down.

She found a head, possessing a mixture of varying degrees of blond and dark undercurrents, turned toward her on the side of the biobed not currently employed by her thin frame. She studied Trip's face for a long moment and judged it to be… relaxed.

Her eyes continued to scrutinise the human for a long moment or perhaps two, loathe to wake him and disturb the expression sprawling over his features like it was untried. She considered ordering him to his own bed, but then realised that might not be the best way to handle a floored chief engineer.

Instead she sighed, lay back, and permitted the tiny personal enjoyment of her left hand wandering into his hair. She satisfied herself that stroking through it just once was a result of her weakened state and her inability to suppress everything she needed to while medicated. Her hand fell back to the bed. Without argument she fell asleep.

And that was how Phlox found them as he wandered into Sickbay's main workspace after an hour writing several letters. He looked them over, shrugged in extreme happiness, and walked away to begin feeding his menagerie.

"Archer to Sickbay," came a voice.

"Phlox here," he answered cheerfully, leaning on the button.

"Would you know where I could find my engineer?"

"I would," he smiled, eyeing the insensate officer not too far away.

"Engineering said he'd come straight up there after his shift ended," Archer added, confusion in his voice. "Is he still there? Checking on his arm, Doctor?"

"Absolutely, Captain," he nodded at the comms unit. "Is there an emergency?"

"No, no. I'm just trying to find out if he wants to join myself and Bahla Nevro and family for dinner."

"Well I shall pass on the message, although right now I would judge rest to be his best friend."

"You have a point." Archer's voice did not seem phased in the least that he would have to dine without a fellow Starfleet officer present.

"Anything else I can do for you, Captain?"

"No, no. Just keep him in good working order."

"Of course, Captain."

The communication was cut and Phlox grinned - extremely widely - to himself. His Vulcan patient had exceeded his expectations in the healing department in a very short time, and he suspected it had a lot to do with the bedside company she had had, even completely asleep.

He sighed and turned to her biobed. He put a hand to Trip's left shoulder gently, shaking him.

"Commander?" he cooed.

Trip's eyes creaked open and he assessed the situation. "Mm-num mnh?" he managed, wetting both lips and blinking blearily. His gaze encountered a delicate Vulcan hand not two inches from his nose and he let relief hijack his features for a moment. Then he lifted his head to see what was happening further afield. He turned his shoulders slightly to find Phlox behind him. "Mornin'," he groaned.

"Actually, it is evening, according to the ship's clock," he smiled warmly. "Captain Archer is looking for you. You are missing dinner with both he and Miss Bahla."

"Food," Trip nodded, getting to his feet and rubbing his face with both hands.

"I would say that perhaps sleep is more important than food, right now. You should rest properly in your quarters. Go."

The younger man nodded but seemed lost, watching the Vulcan with a stunningly acute look of pre-occupation on his face. Phlox waited, tilting his head to one side, trying to fathom just what emotion the human was attempting to sort out this time, and time stretched on. Trip lifted his hand and rubbed at the surface of the white patch on his left arm slowly in thought.

Eventually, he let his right hand wander out toward her face, his fingers turning as if to slide the backs against her cheek. He froze and then dragged his eyes over to Phlox, a threatening glare on his face that the doctor had come to recognise as meaning '_do not touch the pecan pie_'.

"If you _ever_ tell her I did this," he asserted, "I'll deny I was ever here."

He leaned over, sliding the backs of his fingers over the flat of T'Pol's ear gently. His touch ran down, in no apparent hurry, before it slid off and followed the contours of her cheek with unexpected serenity.

Then he straightened and sniffed to himself, knowing he was being watched. He refused to look at the doctor, as if doing so would acknowledge that someone had seen him touching the Vulcan in such a familiar way.

"I'll be in ma quarters," he said non-commitedly, his uncomfortable gaze averted as he turned and walked past Phlox. He reached the doors and pressed the button to leave.

T'Pol's eyes fluttered open in a way that bordered on the surreptitious. They were trained on the doors to Sickbay as they whooshed closed. She lifted her left hand to touch the lucky ear, sliding her own fingers over it and letting her head lean into them just slightly.

She let her hand drop before pulling in a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting it out in a controlled, yet satisfied manner.

It was then that she realised Phlox was watching her.

Phlox grinned, set his laced hands to his chest, and began to chuckle.

.

* * *

.

The door slid open and in came the trolley of food. Pell and Metarh's mouths fell open at the sight.

"What's that?" Pell whispered, pointing at the pile of greens leaves and small red tomatoes.

"Salad," Archer smiled. "Pick anything you want - Chef made it all himself."

"You have a cook?" Metarh asked. She looked at her younger sister, sat opposite her. "I _told_ you he was nice."

Pell's little face scrunched up. "You can have him," she informed her sister. "I'm keeping Commander Tucker."

Archer and Nevro shared a chuckle, but the fifth occupant of the Captain's Mess, Gree, did not look so amused.

"Are we to believe you're just going to let us go again?" he asked sourly.

Archer pointed to the steak and baked potato on the trolley and the crewman set it down in front of him carefully.

"Yes. Your… disagreement with the Cardassians has nothing to do with Earth - or Vulcan, come to that."

"And that is what you will tell your superiors when they ask why you let us go?"

"I will tell the Admiral that we aided you repair your ship, gained a lot of information on Bajoran sailships, and wished you well in all your future space travel," Archer said guardedly.

"They're not called sailships, they're called _light_ships," Pell said off-hand, her eyes round at the salad her mother was loading onto her plate.

"And what happens when the Cardassians catch up with us?" Gree pressed, his face dour.

Archer laid his forearms on the table, looking at the furthest seated guest with obvious annoyance.

"What happens when they don't? Are you going to be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life?" he countered. "We seem to be making good time away from them. All we have to do now is repair your ship."

"And the two men in the Brig?" Nevro asked quietly. "What will you do with them?"

Archer looked at her, found it hard to be angry when such a beautiful woman was watching him with concern.

"I haven't decided yet," he admitted. "I'll work something out."

"You should have handed them back when you had the chance," Gree snapped.

"And they would have told their Gul Sokor that we definitely had Bajorans on board," Archer replied calmly.

"Sokor?" Gree asked.

"Yes. He was in charge of the lead ship, those are his men," Archer said warily. "Why?"

"I have heard of him," Gree allowed, looking at the salad on his own plate. "He is most disagreeable, apparently."

"It's very apparent," Archer allowed.

Nevro watched the two children eat, lost in her thoughts. At last she looked at Gree.

"We should leave their ship as soon as we're able," she said quietly.

Pell and Metarh shared an unhappy glance.

"We've already caused enough trouble for them. We should take care of ourselves. The Prophets will look after us, as they've always done," Nevro added.

Gree looked down at his untouched food. "I know." He stood slowly, noticing the two children push their plates away. "I apologise for my nature, Captain," he managed. "I… don't often meet people… who help others."

"I can see that," Archer replied, but there was no malice in it.

"I will retire. I am still very tired. Children," he commanded. The two girls leapt up. "It's late, and they must rest. Nevro, Captain," he nodded, ushering the girls to the door.

"Captain?" Metarh said suddenly. Everyone paused.

"Yes?" he asked gamely.

"Thanks for the food. And the big ship. You're alright," she nodded.

Archer smiled, taken unawares by the simple and direct compliment. "Well, thank you very much," he allowed.

Pell nudged her sister. "Captain?" she piped up.

"Yes, Pell, how can I help you?"

"Say goodnight to Commander Tucker for me. Please tell him I am still waiting to give him his jumja stick - _after_ he's shown me Enjinearin'," she nodded.

Archer managed to suppress a small chuckle. "Of course I will. Consider it done," he nodded, an attempt at seriousness on his face.

"Thanks! 'Night!" she called.

The door opened and the three of them disappeared. Nevro turned to look at him, putting her hand out on his on the table.

"I'm sorry if they talk too much," she said quickly.

Archer made sure he did not even look at her hand on his, lest she remove it. "Really, it's fine. We have no children on the ship, I'd almost forgotten what it was like to talk to them."

She let herself relax. "Most of the time, they simply just have to know things. The Prophets know I certainly let their curiosity have free rein at times."

Archer leaned forward slightly. "These Prophets…" he began awkwardly.

"You're going to ask me about religion? Now?" she teased.

"I'm curious," he shrugged, his eyes doing their very best imitation of Porthos at feeding time. "I mean, it's not well documented and--"

"Bajoran faith is… personal," she nodded. "We don't… well, it's not something we parade in front of visitors to our world." She paused, appraising his face.

"And… have you ever…"

"Have I ever seen one? No," she grinned. "Don't be silly. One should never look into the eyes of one's own gods," she intoned. He blinked at her and she tilted her head. "So it is written."

"Right," he nodded. "So how do these Prophets guide you if you they never speak?"

"Oh, they speak alright," she shrugged. "But not to us. Probably because we wouldn't be able to understand them - I don't know. But to our holy people, our Vedeks. They have been keepers of the Orbs - the Tears of the Prophets - for thousands of years, after all."

"Orbs?" Archer asked, his hand unmoving under hers, still on the table. He let his other elbow steal onto the surface too, to prop his chin in the attached hand. "What are orbs?"

"The Prophets sent them to us - through the Denorios belt. That's why we're going there."

"And what do these orbs do?"

"Different things. But each one lets you see an aspect of existence through the eyes of the Prophets, living in the Celestial Temple. We don't know where this temple is - yet - but I know that one day, the Prophets will reveal it to us." She paused, a sly look crossing her features. "You don't really care for Prophets and Orbs and Vedeks, do you?"

"Wha - uhm," he stammered, realising he was leaning intently. He checked his eager expression, instead letting his chin drop and his eyes turn upwards in jest. "You know, it never hurts to learn all you can about a race of people," he countered suavely, and she nodded with a giggle, tightening her hand on his and shaking it slightly. "After all, you never know when--"

"Bridge to Captain Archer," came Malcolm's frosty voice. Archer got up quickly, crossing to the wall.

Nevro curled her now-empty hand closed, biting her lip.

"Yes, Lieutenant Reed?"

"Cardassians, sir."

"I thought they were far behind us?"

"They still are, sir. These are… new ones."

.

.


	12. Chapter 12

**TWELVE**

.

.

Archer hurried from the lift to his chair on the Bridge, looking at the viewscreen.

"Report?" he barked.

"One vessel, sir," Malcolm informed him immediately. "It seems to be almost a duplicate of the _Lakaria_n except it's smaller."

"Have they made any attempt to hail us?"

"No, sir," Hoshi put in. "They just appear to be matching our speed, tailing us."

Archer looked over at Malcolm quickly. "Have they charged their weapons?"

"No, sir. I have charged ours, though," he asserted.

Archer nodded, looking back at the screen. "They're probably wondering why a Klingon ship is haring along at warp five," he mused.

"I'm wondering how many Cardassians are knocking about this sector, sir," Malcolm said darkly, prompting a worried look from his Captain.

"Sir, we're being hailed," Hoshi announced.

"Damn. Well then, I hope you had time to review those Klingon insults of yours," he said grandly, turning to her.

"Sir?"

"We can't use the translator, they'll know we're not speaking Klingon," Archer reasoned. "Tell him we're a Klingon ship and he'd better back the hell off."

Hoshi blinked. "You want me to--"

"Swear at him, threaten him, be as obtuse as you like, Hoshi. Now's your chance to be rude to a Cardassian," he nodded. "You have to convince him we're real and we won't tolerate his nosiness."

A strange look of enthusiasm came over the younger communications officer's face. "Yes _sir_," she bridled. She flipped a switch.

"This is Glinn Derrell of the Cardassian ship _Hutet_. Who are you? Identify yourselves."

Archer skipped up to look over the railing at Hoshi's console, nodding to her. She cleared her throat and looked at the screen, choosing a good sentence.

"_I have no interest who you are, you worthless alien scum! You will break off your pursuit or we will consider it an act of aggression against the Empire!_" she snarled.

She looked up, catching Malcolm's sudden grin and his thumb up at her perfectly angry voice. She winked at him, then realised Archer was reading the translation on her screen. He nodded, pleased.

"You will identify yourself!" came the angry retort over the ship's speakers.

"_You will prepare to be blown from the stars so that I may feed your powdered remains to my _targ_! This is the day the Klingon vessel _Kos'karii_ destroys its first Cardassian ship!_" Hoshi cried, her voice thick with hate.

Archer grinned, nodding appreciatively. There was a long silence. He turned quickly, hurrying to his chair and leaning over it, pressing the comms buttons. "Archer to Phlox," he said quickly.

"This is he," came the cheerful voice.

"I need you to get down to the Brig right away! Sedate the two Cardassians, hurry!"

"Of course."

Archer hurried back to Hoshi's station, where an angry Cardassian voice was attempting bluster.

'_Stall them_', Archer mouthed at her. She nodded.

"_How long have you been in space? I'm surprised your mother lets you out so late!_" she shot back.

Archer leaned over the rail, reading the translation. He nodded.

"You impudent Klingon!" came the response. "I should--"

"_I should have my men come over there and split you like roasting pigs!_" she interrupted. "_I would send my best women, but I would hate to kill you too quickly!_"

They heard a muffled guffaw and both officers looked up to see Malcolm covering his mouth hastily. He had obviously tapped into Hoshi's readouts from his tactical station and looked to be enjoying the transcript.

"We shall disable your vessel and board you!" the voice cried angrily.

"_If you fire on us we shall fire back - and when we disable your engines and board your vessel, we shall cut out your hearts and my men shall wear them to impress our female warriors!_" she snapped.

Archer had to slap his hand over his mouth this time, as he nodded and tried not to make a sound. He waved his free hand in a circle, encouraging her to continue.

.

* * *

.

Phlox puffed down the corridor, coming to a halt by the Brig and eyeing the two men on the door.

"Good evening to you," he managed. "The Captain requires me to sedate our guests as quickly as possible."

The two MACOs exchanged a glance. Phlox rolled his eyes and pushed past them, opening the outer room door. Inside were two more officers, this time Starfleet personnel. He looked at them both, lifting the hypospray in his hand.

"I must sedate them. Captain Archer is waiting for my confirmation."

Both officers raised their phasers at the doors, looking at the caged Cardassians with distrust.

"Away from the door," the taller, female guard ordered.

The two Cardassians stepped back from their respective positions by the door. The officer took the hypospray from the doctor and keyed the locking code into the door, opening it slowly. The male officer raised his weapon to train it on the prisoner.

"Hold still," the woman warned, edging closer to him.

But the Cardassian shifted and reached for her phaser. She stepped back neatly and fired. He slumped to the grating and she looked at the doctor behind her.

"Do they have to be conscious when I administer this?" she asked calmly.

"Ah… no, I don't believe they do. It will just prevent them from waking from the stun for a little longer than normal," Phlox muttered, already shuffling backwards. "Nice reflexes, Lieutenant," he managed.

"It's my job, sir," she allowed with a small smile, already crouching and firing the injection into the neck of the fallen man. She turned and unlocked the adjacent cell, firing without warning. The second Cardassian fell and she administered the dose quickly.

"Done." She stepped back and handed the hypo to the Denobulan hastily, going to the wall and pressing the comms button. "Brig to the Bridge - both Cardassians sedated, sir."

"Good work. You need to get them both to the Transporter Room, Lieutenant: we're beaming them home," came Archer's voice.

Phlox simply looked at them, then watched the two Starfleet officers grab the nearest Cardassian by the arms.

"Well. That's one less thing to worry about," he smiled.

.

* * *

.

"Archer to Engineering," he called quickly.

"Engineering. Hess, sir."

"Hess! Get Commander Tucker down to the transporter. I want those two Cardassians sent over there ASAP."

"Sir? At warp?" she gasped.

"You have a point." He paused and looked over at Hoshi.

"_You will turn around like the puffed up_ tigla _that you pretend not to be! You will tuck your tail between your legs and run, and pray we do not change course to intercept you!_" she was threatening in a rather scary voice that had Malcolm arching an eyebrow and watching her with appreciation.

Archer had half a second to find Malcolm's stare on his communications officer rather more admiring than it had been, then shook himself.

"Hoshi, Malcolm," he called. "We're going to fire on their ship. Target their engines - we have to get them to drop out of warp."

"Yes sir," Malcolm snapped quickly, his eyes going back to the console under him. "Ready, sir."

"Hoshi?"

She raised her hand to silence him. "_Then you will die, filthy_ paTak!" she cried. She looked at Malcolm, tipping a finger down.

Malcolm looked at Archer. He nodded.

"One torpedo, sir." Malcolm waited, then nodded, satisfied. "They've lost engine control, sir, they're dropping out of warp. Dead stop."

"Travis - dead stop," he ordered quickly.

"Dead stop, sir."

"Archer to Transporter Room - Trip?"

"Ready, sir," came the laid-back, heavily accented response. "What do you need, here?"

"I need those two Cardassians ejected anywhere on their ship," he ordered. "Do it fast."

"Anywhere, Cap'n?" Trip replied, somewhat maliciously.

"_Inside_ the vessel, Commander."

There was a sigh that suggested the chief engineer considered himself hard done-by. "Aye, sir."

The Bridge waited, pretending they weren't holding their breath.

"It's done, Cap'n. They should be in the cargo area."

"Safe and sound?"

"Well - I couldn't be sure where the decking was, sir. They might have had a bit of a tumble to the--"

"That's close enough," Archer interrupted with a maleficent smile. He wiped it off quickly. "Travis - top speed. Resume our route toward the Denorios belt."

"Yes sir," he allowed.

The ship shot off, the Bridge officers sharing a long look of relief.

.

* * *

.

Nevro sat in the Mess Hall, nursing her large mug and musing at the rush of stars outside the window.

"May I join you?" came a quiet voice, and she looked up to find Captain Archer watching her with a slight case of nerves.

She smiled. "Of course. I understand you gave those two Cardassians back."

"I did. Seemed only right to return them to another Cardassian vessel."

"And the original ships that were following us?"

"No sign so far," he smiled, pulling out a chair and sitting himself opposite her. "My Tactical Officer thinks we may have seen the last of them. He's a little upset about it - I think he wanted a chance to test our weapons on their hull," he admitted with a small smile.

She snorted with amusement. "You humans," she sighed. "We have been using the same sailships--"

"Ah - _light_ships," Archer corrected with a kind smile.

"Lightships," she allowed, nodding her head, "for hundreds of years. And we have rudimentary weapons at best - only since we found that not everyone is as capable of friendship as we are."

"Not everyone. Just some," he agreed.

It was silent for a long moment.

"Where is everyone else?" Archer asked at length.

She took a deep breath, apparently a little uncomfortable. "Gree and Metarh are talking with the nice lady I met on the Bridge - Hoshi, is it?"

"That's her," he nodded. "Hoshi is our languages expert. She's really gifted - and she's determined to find out all she can about Bajoran."

"Gree was not as… argumentative as I had expected at her request to speak with them," she smiled. "Seems he's climbing down from his rather tall perch up there in Righteous Indignation Land."

Archer grinned. "And let me guess - Pell is in Engineering?"

"I thought it would be a little rude to inflict her on Commander Tucker again at this late hour," she smiled gamely. "She is supposed to be getting some sleep, and he is said to be off duty."

"Ah," Archer allowed. It was silent for a long moment.

"You are now off duty too?" she dared.

"I am. And almost waiting for the other shoe to drop," he allowed.

"The other shoe?"

"It's an expression - I feel like those Cardassians on the _Lakarian_ are about to sneak up on us again. I can't shake the feeling they're still tailing us somehow," he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"You need more rest," she advised. "And I expect you haven't eaten recently?"

"You expect right," he admitted sheepishly. She grinned.

"Excellent. Then you and I can eat together. I can see there is still food in the display cabinet over there," she nodded.

He turned and looked over at the food, then back at her. His eyes dropped to the table for a moment.

"I have a better idea," he said carefully, before turning large, puppy-dog eyes on her. "Would you join me in the Captain's Mess? It would be more private."

"Hmm. I don't know. I've heard tales of innocent girls being abducted by nefarious starship captains," she teased.

"Well then. I'll leave you to--"

"Jonathan," she chuckled, already getting to her feet. "I would love to have dinner with you." She looked around, as if lost. "Where do we go again?"

He stood slowly and waved a hand out, a large grin spreading over his face.

.

.


	13. Chapter 13

**THIRTEEN**

.

.

Phlox heard the doors to Sickbay opened and looked up to see a rather familiar dark blue uniform coming his way.

"Ah, Commander. I've been expecting you," he said cheerfully, being careful to check the look on the young man's face first.

"Why? Am I late for summin'?" Trip asked, worried.

"No, not at all. It's just that I understand your shift finished a little over ten minutes ago. I thought you'd lost your way to my door," he grinned, walking past him and to the counter.

"Meanin'?" Trip asked, a little sharply.

Phlox turned, surprised. "Only that I expected you to come up and check on T'Pol. It's what you've been doing every time disaster has been averted recently," he replied with graceful ease.

"Actually," Trip said clearly, his face set into a picture of righteous exasperation, "you told me to come back so you could peel this thing off me and check how that burn's doin'."

"Ah yes, so I did," Phlox smiled.

He crossed Sickbay and put his hands out in an invitation. Trip lifted his left arm, turning it wrist-up to him. Phlox unwound the lengths slowly, keeping his eyes on the gauze as it gave way to the rectangular patch of cloth. He lifted it and looked underneath at the maze of tiny wriggling parasites, apparently having a real field day.

Trip peered over the top of Phlox's hands, wrinkling his nose immediately. "They do know they're only supposed to eat the bad stuff, right?" he accused.

"They do, and they are," Phlox nodded. "In fact, quite a few of them are going hungry, by the looks of them. It seems they've already cleared the infected, damaged tissue, Commander."

He pulled Trip by his elbow, leading him to the work area by the side of the curtained-off sleep area. As Phlox pulled his arm out and tipped it down, releasing the tiny voracious worms onto the counter, he realised Trip was actually leaning away from the white surface.

"Not aesthetically pleasing, I'll grant you," Phlox admitted, "but most useful."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," Trip said quickly, pretending he hadn't been trying to look round the curtain at the biobeds beyond.

"Any adverse effects from the noise in Engineering?" the doctor asked cheerfully.

"Not yet. Don't matter where I am, though - I can still hear it, echoing round and round and round ma head," he sighed, watching Phlox knock the last of the maggots from the mess of clean wound underneath. "What happens now?"

"Now I dress this and give you a shot for the pain that will arrive as soon as the numbing effects of the maggots' saliva wear off," Phlox said happily.

"I'm really trying _not_ to think about what you just said," the engineer swallowed.

"Oh come now. The Egregarian worms have done a marvellous job. It'll all heal much more quickly," he beamed. He turned and picked up a fresh packet of gauze, cracking it open and laying it gently on the area now magically free of burned or sizzled skin. Trip hissed slightly but Phlox ignored him, picking up a roll of decidedly old-fashioned surgical tape and securing the four edges. "Don't get it wet," he advised.

"Right."

Phlox laid his hand on his wrist, counting for a moment. He looked up and realised the human's attention was somewhere else. He cleared his throat and Trip looked back at him quickly. Phlox let his eyes flick up to his, then he turned to the counter and picked up a hypospray, adjusting it slowly.

"If you want to ask me something, Commander--" he began quietly.

"What? No, no, this is fine," Trip blurted hastily, looking back at the Denobulan before down at his arm.

Phlox reached out and touched the instrument in his hand to the Commander's neck, sending the requisite analgesic home. He picked up a second hypospray, watching the human pretend that he wasn't avoiding his gaze. Phlox touched the second hypospray to the engineer's neck, nodding as the cocktail of anti-biotics whooshed home. He looked back at the human's face, and at last Trip's eyebrows creaked upwards but only over his nose, the outer edges still enjoying the depths.

"Ah… Ok, you got me," he admitted. "She woken up yet?"

"Oh, several times," Phlox scoffed, walking over to the curtained-off area and disappearing behind it. "But she soon falls asleep again. I presume she is working hard on fixing any damage or healing herself internally - as Vulcans are wont to do," came his happy afterthought.

Trip edged round the curtain and looked down at T'Pol, lying still as she slept. He looked up at the readings above her head, able to make out they were all stable and strong.

"She recognises me and then falls asleep. Perhaps I am not enough to entertain her," Phlox added with a generous smile. "Or maybe I am just not what she hoped to find when she awoke."

"She sleepin' ok? I mean, not tossing and turning?" Trip muttered worriedly, apparently not picking up on the doctor's pointed remark.

"I don't believe Vulcans 'toss and turn', Commander," he smiled. "But even if they do, she has not. She seems quite content. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, ahm, no reason," he said quickly, taking a single step back.

"Do you believe she might be restless?" Phlox asked seriously.

"Why ask me?" he blurted, and the doctor noticed the slight tinge of red to the tips of the Starfleet officer's ears.

"Because you two spend a lot of time working together, Commander, I've seen you eating together in the Mess Hall, and let's not forget three neuropressure sessions a week. As such, you are probably her closest friend on the ship. You would know of any reason for her to be unable to rest properly," he reasoned innocently.

"Oh, yeah, right, of course," he nodded, avoiding the Denobulan's scrutiny. "She'd probably just want to get right back to work," he added confidently.

"Yes," Phlox observed slowly.

Trip took one more look at the readouts, and then nodded. He took a step back, about to turn away.

"Ah - Commander," Phlox called quickly. He turned back to him. "Are _you_ sleeping alright these days?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Why?"

"With T'Pol injured, there is no way for you to receive any neuropressure. Depending on her recuperation time after she leaves Sickbay, it may be some time before she deems it safe to continue."

"I'm fine without it, Doc."

"Are you sure?"

"Have been for a while," he nodded cheerfully.

"Then why do you still continue the practice?" he asked, interested.

Trip's face clouded slightly. "Sometimes… I don't know, it's like… Like you can talk about your problems without feeling you're being watched. Like getting neuropressure done kinda… kinda makes you feel like you've told someone your worries." He looked up at the doctor. "Doesn't make sense, huh?"

"I have never experienced it, Commander. I cannot judge either way," he shrugged. "Although I would be surprised if the accompanying conversation was not in some way also helpful." Trip nodded, but the Denobulan noticed he lingered still. "T'Pol be up and around tomorrow. And if she did need any emotional support or a lend of strength, I'm sure you'd be the first person she'd call on. Of course, being asleep, she couldn't do that right now, could she?" he shrugged.

Trip stared at him, his eyes widening until Phlox was sure he had left something very important running without his supervision in Engineering. _That white space dream thing was real! I was really there! She actually needed my help!_ "N-no. No. No. No. No - not at all."

"Something the matter?"

"Oh, no, nothing," Trip stammered. "Well, she's ok, you're ok, I'm ok, we're all ok, so I'll just be going--"

"Commander?"

"'Night, Doc," he called over his shoulder, already at the doors and pressing the button to leave.

Phlox watched him go, puzzled over his behaviour for a moment, then shook it free of his head.

"Humans," he shrugged cheerfully.

.

* * *

.

Travis was just ticking off the third hour of a rather dull watch at the helm, wishing that something would happen. It had been silent on the Bridge for at least thirty minutes, even Archer sinking into his chair with some preoccupation that either made him smile or frown at ten second intervals.

The lift to the Bridge opened suddenly and Archer swung his chair round to watch Trip march out. He cast his eyes up and down his chief engineer, noting his sleeves still rolled up, and the apparently fresh dressing on his left arm. He puzzled over the harried look on his face.

"Something wrong, Commander?" he asked lightly.

Trip stopped by the nearest railing, putting his left hand out and leaning on it. His other went to his hip and Archer steeled himself for a dash of the younger man's temper.

"We still runnin' from them Cardassians, sir?" he asked bluntly, his voice a touch belligerent.

"My Tactical Officer has advised me on how much longer we need to race along like Klingons," he responded evenly.

Trip's hardened gaze went from Archer to Malcolm, sat patiently behind his post. "Well?" he demanded.

"I believe it would be prudent to wait another day before shucking the subterfuge," Malcolm allowed carefully.

"_Really?_" Trip drawled sarcastically. "Then you go down and wait that day out in Engineerin'. I've got ma crew on rotation cos if you spend longer than ten minutes in there, listening to them pulse generators screamin' like banshees, you start to go nuts. You _even_ have these daydreams about brainin' a fellow officer cos he won't let you shut the damn things off," he continued, a harsh, malevolent purr to his voice.

Archer hid a smile behind a strategic wipe of his chin. He turned his chair to look at Malcolm. "How soon can we drop out of warp and put the engines back as they were?" he asked with a sigh.

"Another day, sir. We can't risk anything less than that. The warp pattern dispersal we have running right now is helping to break down the Klingon signature, which they shouldn't be tracking anyway, but these are experienced bounty hunters and I wouldn't want them sniffing a fresh _Enterprise_ trail when we're so far ahead of them."

"You gotta be kiddin' me!" Trip exploded. "We've been zig-zagging and haring all over the place - there's no way they could still be tailing us!"

"When I want expertise from Engineering, I'll ask _you_, Commander," Malcolm said firmly. "When it comes to keeping the ship from being ambushed by Cardassians, I'll advise the Captain as I see fit. He is free to ignore my suggestions, of course," he added primly.

"Cap'n?" Trip tutted, pinning him with a look that could have scrubbed several plasma conduits clean on its own.

"A clean getaway is a clean getaway, Commander," he allowed. "One more day, on the advice of my Tactical Officer."

Trip fumed but his mouth sealed closed. He turned toward the lift again and the door shot open. He paused on the threshold, turning back to point at Malcolm.

"Fine! But when you need your precious expertise from Engineerin' and you call down and find us all bleeding out of our ears, don't blame me, _Lieutenant_," he snapped.

He swept into the lift and disappeared.

Archer just blinked, surprised. "What's eating him? All he has to do is not stand in Engineering," he observed. "As if he has any worries right now," he scoffed.

Malcolm's eyes clouded with thought as he mused over the Captain's words. Unbidden, they caught those of Hoshi, whose cogs also seemed to be turning with a need to find a reason for Trip's temper this time.

He realised he was looking directly at her and smiled slightly. She blinked, smiled back a little hesitantly, and turned herself back to her console quickly. Travis slid his eyes over, gauged her mood, and then returned his attention to the helm.

_Well that will give us something to go on in the Mess Hall_, he judged.

.

* * *

.

Archer rounded the bend in the corridor, unzipping his uniform slightly and wrenching the top two buttons open on the black cotton undershirt. He looked up, hoping to see his door and longing only for his own bed and his dog.

What he saw was a woman leaning on the door, her arms folded, as she studied the ceiling.

He slowed as he neared her, taking in her fair hair that bounced and begged his attention as she turned her head.

"Evening. I had heard you got off at twenty-one hundred hours, and here you are," she smiled.

"Nevro. How did you find--"

"Your quarters? There's a map if you bother to look for it."

"Right," he nodded, still a little surprised.

"So."

"So," he allowed, nerves slowly starting to creep up his spine in an attempt to take his tongue hostage.

"Are you going to invite me inside? I still haven't met your palukoo substitute," she winked.

"How rude of me," he managed. He leaned his arm past her and pressed his thumb to the button, opening the lock. "Please."

She pushed herself off the door and turned as it opened. She looked in and spotted the beagle quite comfortable on top of the bed.

"Oh hi," she said with a suave amusement. "You must be Porthos."

.

* * *

.

"You'll get breakfast when we're back, and not a moment before," Archer chided the dog, ignoring the way his head tilted in a begging stance he was all too familiar with.

"Does he talk back?" Nevro asked with a bemused smile.

Archer looked at her, walking by his side, and felt himself flush. "No. It's just… it's just habit," he allowed.

"He's a lovely thing," she chuckled. "What is he again?"

"A beagle," Archer supplied. His hand brushed hers as they walked, but she made no comment. He made sure he kept a discreet distance as they rounded the corner. "And here we are. You sure no-one's going to be mad at you?"

"Mad at me? Why?" she asked, confused.

"For… well, for not coming back here last night. To be with your family."

She blinked, surprised. "Jonathan, I am in charge here. If I decide to stay out all night on a huge starship, it's up to me. Gree and especially the children have no place to question me," she stated, still watching him with surprise.

"Oh. Well… then, that's ok," he nodded.

She smiled. "Good morning, Captain," she said loudly, and he sensed the noise of crewmembers behind him in the corridor.

"Good morning, Miss Bahla," he agreed, tilting his head slightly and turning away. He caught sight of, and nodded to, the two engineers now right in front of him. They straightened and nodded back, and he swept around them.

He looked down to see Porthos trotting along beside him and sighed cheerfully.

"Oh, hey, Cap'n," he heard. He stopped abruptly and looked up, spotting his chief engineer in a favourite old grey t-shirt and sweats.

"Trip," he allowed, startled. He swallowed the illogical reaction to look behind him at Bahla's door.

"You look tuckered out," Trip observed, apparently none too impressed. "You been workin' all night on summin'?"

"Yes," Archer lied shortly. He noticed his engineer's own face none too awake either, his hair rumpled. "You've actually been sleeping?"

"Yep," he lied with haste.

A few terribly uncomfortable seconds passed.

"So, ah…" Trip began awkwardly.

"Yeah," Archer nodded. They stepped round each other to carry on walking. Archer gestured to a faithfully watching Porthos to walk on, but then he sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Trip, wait," he called, turning.

"What can I do for you?" he asked rather weakly.

Archer's eyes narrowed. "What is it? You're just annoyed with the noise in Engineering?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, confused. "What else?"

"Not… Not the Cardassians?"

Trip looked at his feet. "Alright, a little," he admitted quietly. "But… I'm kinda pole-axed here, aren't I?" he realised. "I don't want those people to end up with the Cardassians again, but I don't think just setting 'em free and hoping some gods are gonna take 'em to task is enough."

Archer kept his mouth judiciously shut, deciding to wait him out.

Trip looked up at him again. "So maybe it's lucky it's not down to me. That's why you get the big chair," he shrugged.

"Not as comfortable as it looks," Archer nodded. Trip opened his mouth but Archer waved him off. "Really, I wasn't looking for another furniture make-over," he insisted.

Trip let himself relax at last, nodding.

Archer looked around the corridor. "I think we were on our way somewhere, weren't we?"

"Yeah, think we were," Trip nodded.

"Well I've got Porthos to feed."

"Yep. See y'on the Bridge then," Trip shrugged, turning away. Archer nodded and turned too, heading in the opposite direction. "Jon?" Trip called suddenly.

"Yes, _Charles_?" he teased, swinging back to look at him.

"Were you really workin' all night?"

"No."

"Oh." Trip started to walk away.

"Trip," he called curiously.

"Yep?"

"Were you really sleeping all night?"

"No."

"Oh."

They shared an awkward look that spoke volumes, but to which book of life they belonged, they had no idea.

"Right then. See ya," Trip said quickly.

"Yes," Archer hastily agreed.

They turned and disappeared as fast as politely possible, Archer slapping at a leg to draw Porthos' attention from the guest quarters behind them.

.

.


	14. Chapter 14

**FOURTEEN**

.

.

Archer spread his feet under the table in the Captain's Mess, sipping his tea. He watched Nevro pick up her cup and look at him.

"Your chef is amazing," she grinned. "Any chance I could take him with me when we go?"

"'Fraid not," he smiled. "I'd be lynched the moment your lightship sailed away."

She chuckled, taking a sip of her tea. She looked at the table, judging them both to be finished eating.

"Can I ask a favour?" she dared.

"Ask away."

"Would you… would you accompany me to Sickbay? I would like to reclaim my only child from the clutches of your doctor's knowledge and toys, and if she is feeling better, I must give my regards to your science officer. She helped save all of us that day we were hiding."

"It would by my pleasure," he smiled.

They got up and left the room quietly, a very relaxed conversation floating between them before they found themselves all too soon at the doors to Sickbay.

Archer pressed the button and they walked in to hear the raucous laughter of a small child. They rounded the curtain to find T'Pol sitting up in Starfleet pyjamas, the blanket still over her but Pell sat on the edge. Both females were watching the other biobed, and Trip. Dressed in a faded red t-shirt and battered trousers, his hair sticking up in odd little tufts that suggested he had been hauled out of bed, he was in the act of miming some titanic struggle between his hand and his throat.

Pell was clapping delightedly, squealing with laughter and bouncing. The Vulcan behind her appeared amused enough to raise both eyebrows, her eyes wide and focused just a little sharper than usual.

"I'm sorry, what are we interrupting?" Archer grinned.

Trip ceased his battle and turned to look at him. "Oh, hey Cap'n. We were doing Frankenstein's monster," he grinned.

"Can I ask why?" he asked dryly.

"The Commander was attempting to amuse Pell with a rendition of part of his favourite film," T'Pol replied calmly, although there was almost a hint of something akin to amusement in her tone. "He also presumes that this will 'cheer me up' while incapacitated," she added, her eyebrows sinking to normal levels again.

Trip shrugged, his hands in his lap. "I'll do it, T'Pol, just gimme enough time."

"Do what?" Archer dared.

"He's going to make her smile!" Pell giggled, "He said if it takes him his whole life, he'll find a way to make her crack that Vulcan face of hers!"

"Pell," Nevro scolded quickly, but to Archer's surprise, T'Pol simply nodded at the child.

"Those were indeed his exact words," she agreed.

Trip lifted his hand and Pell jumped off the biobed, running to his and high-fiving him.

"You two are so much fun!" she giggled.

"Even myself?" T'Pol wondered.

"_Especially_ you," Pell laughed. "You're the only one who can tell Commander Tucker that up is down and get away with it!"

Trip and T'Pol shared a glance that Archer did not quite believe he saw. For a moment he was prepared to believe there was more meaning behind it than just a simple exchange of acknowledgement or embarrassment. For a moment it almost looked… He brushed it aside, realising perhaps that Nevro's perfume had gone to his head.

"Yes, well," he managed. "I'm sure T'Pol needs her rest."

"On the contrary, Captain," came Phlox's voice as he appeared round the curtain. "I think she can return to her quarters to rest now. She will be on sick leave for a few more days, of course."

"Oh no! Are you too sick to come to Enjinearin'?" Pell asked the Vulcan quickly. "Commander Tucker has to show me around or he won't get his jumja stick."

"And why am I required?" T'Pol asked, confused.

"Cos when he makes up stories about the workings, you can slap him for me. You're taller and cleverer than I am," she nodded seriously.

Trip was already laughing, Archer barely managing to keep a straight face. But T'Pol blinked and sat up straight.

"Perhaps I am taller than you are, Pell," she allowed, "but I am sure I am not as clever, nor devious."

"But you are very brave, and it is appreciated," Nevro said quietly. The smiles on the faces of the adults faded slowly. "Thank you, so much, for what you did for us. You saved us from Cardassians when it was not your place to have to do so."

"I deemed it my duty to help prevent them apprehend you and your family," T'Pol replied coolly. "They were not honourable people."

Trip cleared his throat meaningfully. However, it appeared the exact meaning was unknown except to himself and the Vulcan at whom it was directed.

"They fired even though they knew there to be children present. There were not honourable people," T'Pol reiterated firmly. The two officers met each other's hard gaze, until eventually Trip looked away.

"You helped us, and it was because of us that you were hurt. I want you to know… I owe you a great debt," Nevro insisted.

"It is enough to know you are still together, and Pell still has her mother," T'Pol said cryptically.

"Then… do one thing for me, T'Pol of Vulcan," Nevro said urgently, walking forward. She stopped short of taking her hand. She took a deep breath. "Don't waste the time you have. You never know what will be here tomorrow. Seize the day. Seize the opportunity. You will not be disappointed."

She let her eyes flick to the only other occupied biobed before she fixed her gaze back on the Vulcan.

"May the Prophets walk with you." She turned and walked past Archer. As she brushed by his uniform her hand found his. He was summarily pulled after her, pausing only to open the doors to Sickbay.

Trip turned and watched them go, then looked at T'Pol. "What was all that about?" he asked, his face creasing in confusion as Pell grabbed his hand to pull him to stand up.

"I am sure I do not know," the Vulcan responded, but when she looked back at him, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that _he_ knew he had caught her in a white lie.

.

* * *

.

"Right - finally! Cap'n says it's time to drop out of warp and go back to Starfleet specs, so we'll just wait out here till we're not being chalk-boarded by our own injectors," Trip called over the screaming already obvious from behind the door.

Every crewmember grinned in relief and Trip nodded. He took the toolcase from Hess and turned, pressing the comms button by the thick door.

"Ok, Bridge, go ahead. Anytime you want to slow her down is just fine with me," he called.

"Engineering, stand by," came Malcolm Reed's voice.

"Could you hurry? I think there's summin' warm and sticky dripping from ma ear," he shot back.

He could well imagine Malcolm's face and contented himself with knowing that, whilst on the Bridge, Lieutenant Reed would be unable to voice a pithy come-back.

The steady keening sound, the thrumming of the oddly-configured warp engines slowed and then came to a steady stop. Trip let out a sigh of relief.

"Silence to my ears," he heaved. "Let's get us back to Starfleet regs."

He opened the door and crewmembers flooded in, eagerly getting back to posts in the sudden, eerie quiet.

Trip blew out a sigh. "Just an hour's work then," he grumbled.

"Commander," came a familiar voice, and he turned to see the Vulcan science officer approaching from the corridor.

"T'Pol," he grinned, then made himself shrink it to a smile quickly. "Thought you were off duty for a while?"

"I am," she nodded, stopping by his side. "I was… concerned over the state of Engineering. Doctor Phlox stated you have been anxious."

"Ahm, yeah," he said, swallowing and turning away to the door quickly. "Love to say and chat, got work though, see ya," he rattled off.

"I will accompany you," she allowed coolly, stepping through the door after him.

He noticed that, even though she was wearing another skin-tight catsuit obviously designed and made by the Vulcan High Command for the sole purpose of teasing him, she had simple Starfleet slippers on. For some reason it tickled a funny bone and he almost smiled his way down to his desk.

He plonked the toolcase down on the table.

"So. You bored? Or just wantin' to get under ma feet again?" he asked carefully, opening the case and going through small tools.

"I simply came to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For taking me to Sickbay after I was injured. I could not have made it by myself," she allowed.

"I think you enjoyed--." He stopped dead, turning to her and pointing at her with the isolitic converter in his right hand. "We already had this conversation. Right?"

"Did we?" she asked, her face inscrutable.

"Yeah. We did. I remember." He swallowed his next words quickly, but they echoed round his head: _I liked it. And what you did to say thank you_.

"I have barely been awake for--"

"No, when you were sleepin'," he said quietly, but nonetheless urgently. "You were doing some all-white happy-place meditation thing, and somehow I got stuck in it."

"I do not remember--"

"I wasn't dreamin' it, T'Pol," he interrupted. "Don't you pull that one on me." He let his hand drop quickly. "I _wasn't_. You remember that conversation, don't you?" he asked, his voice dropping much lower to avoid the ears of the crewmembers looking their way surreptitiously.

"I was unconscious for most of my treatment," she said slowly, but he noticed she appeared puzzled. "It is possible that I… Vulcans do sometimes use meditation if it is deemed useful while injured. Perhaps--"

"Here we go. Can't you just give me a straight answer?"

She appeared to study his boots with interest, and he waited. Suddenly, watching her piece something together, seeing her follow through arguments in her head and bow to overwhelming logic, he realised he could and would wait forever for her to figure it out - and then tell him.

Lost in the marvellous view, he was surprised to see her head come up and her eyes meet his. He swallowed quickly.

"The only answer I have is the one that cannot be upheld with evidence, nor discounted so."

"And that is?" he asked, unhurried.

She swayed her head to one side in exactly the way he found endearing, lacing her hands behind her back and taking in the hubbub of activity behind her. She stepped around him to stand safely behind the chair to his desk, out of sight of most of Engineering.

"I was unconscious. Vulcan science teaches us to heal ourselves. I was attempting to do so. However, it is possible that… while weakened and working on only basic survival logic, my mental state was in need and reached for… some…" Her words floundered and he was shocked to see her look a shade vulnerable.

"You needed a friend to lean on," he offered quietly.

She kept her eyes on the rectangular command pips on his chest, silent for a full minute.

_A friend, he says. As if letting someone into your personal mediation state is of no consequence. As if it does not assume that my unconscious mind deemed him the single person trusted to connect with while incapacitated. As if he is not the only person I would allow such an intrusion of my privacy. As if it is 'no big deal'_.

She pulled in an uneasy sigh through her nose, keeping her eyes on his pips.

_Were he Vulcan, I would not be conflicted over discovering my subconscious finds him both a trusted and suitable companion when in need. Were he Vulcan, he would understand what I did and the advances it suggests I would find agreeable between us. Were he Vulcan, I would not have to explain myself. Were he Vulcan, I would not be standing on the grating of an Earth ship, ignoring logic by avoiding his eyes._

She raised her chin cautiously, her gaze creeping over his face and encountering his eyes. She studied them, tried to divine his reaction to her silence, but instead was ensnared by the whirling blueness of his concern.

_Concern. For me_.

"A friend," she admitted. _If that is the human word for what you did for me_.

"Why didn't you just say?" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was crappin' myself, T'Pol! I thought there was summin' more going on."

She kept a tight lid on the alarm his insight caused. "Something more?"

"I don't know. But it was just…" He let his hand fall from his hair, wiping down the side of his face. As it encountered his cheek he felt it spring off quickly. "In there, you just seemed to… to be able to do stuff you wouldn't normally let yourself do," he finished lamely.

"While I am sure you provided a reliable measure of support, I do not remember everything that occurred," she commented quietly.

"Typical."

"Your response leads me to believe that… I would rather I did."

He watched her for a long moment, but judged her far from trying to rile him at that moment. He sighed and turned away.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, feeling heat in his face. "I wish you did too." He picked up three small tools and walked off across the grating in Engineering.

She followed silently, hands still behind her back.

"Have you spoken to the Captain about the Bajorans?" she asked suddenly.

He bent over to undo the latches on a hatch and she was forced to step back quickly.

"Oh yeah," he said with conviction, pulling the panel from the housing and setting it to lean against the casing. "Have I."

"And?"

"And I think we covered everything," he shrugged.

He gripped a torch in his teeth and began to roll his sleeves up. She eyed the white patch on his arm but said nothing, even suppressing the urge to frown at the sign of injury. The next thing she knew he had crawled into the space headfirst on his hands and knees, the tools left on the grating outside the hatch.

"You are aware he has a relationship with Miss Bahla?" she inquired.

"I had a feelin'. Question is," he answered, the torch obscuring his words only slightly, "how do you know?"

"Pell informed me," she replied, crouching and trying not to admire the seat of his overalls shifting about in front of her. Her eyes ran over the human, one eyebrow lifting in escaped appreciation. Then she turned almost hastily, resting her back against the metal wall by the hatch. She folded her arms and made herself watch the far wall with a practised gaze of ambivalence.

"Yeah well, I think it's good for him. Leave him to it," came the engineer's voice.

"What is?"

"Getting a bit."

"A bit of what, Commander?"

There was a long pause, during which Trip cleared his throat. "Ah… Happiness. Y'know, while he can."

"Because she will leave soon?"

"Yeah. That and… you never know what's around the corner. Who knows the next time he'll find someone worth it out here?"

It was silent, apart from the slight sounds of electrical devices from inside the hatch and tinkering.

"Commander… Do you ever perceive yourself to be at a crossroads?" she asked quietly.

"Only when I'm sitting at the EPS junctures on C deck," he sighed.

"I was referring to decisions in your life."

He shuffled back out of the hatch and reached for the tool still sitting on the grating. He sat back on his heels, risking a look at her.

"Plenty o' times. Joining Starfleet. The Cap'n's first warp flight. _Not_ bashing a Xindi's head in. Laying Lizzie to rest. List goes on," he finished quietly, flicking his gaze to the fine instrument in his hand.

"You feel that being able to say goodbye somehow lessons your memory of her? Of what she means to you?"

"She's - was - my sister, T'Pol. Of course I didn't want to let her go," he allowed quietly, but his eyes were steadfast on his hands and the adjustments he was making, perhaps unnecessarily.

"I believe, no matter the circumstances, she always will be your sister."

Trip paused, a small smile creasing his mouth into a familiar expression of bemused acceptance. "Y'know, for a Vulcan, you sure have a capacity for emotional tolerance," he observed wryly. He turned to the hatch, stopping to pick up the other tool.

"It is how I survive amongst humans," she remarked.

"Yeah, well. One day you'll quit surviving and start living," he quipped.

There was silence and he turned his head to look at her. She was staring at the grating, distracted.

"Hey," he prompted softly. She looked at him quickly. "You ok?"

"I am fine, Commander." She paused, watching him. "Just pondering how humans, Bajorans and Vulcans seem to share a love of exploring the dangerous."

Trip shook his head. "I could try a lifetime and never work you out, T'Pol," he smiled.

"You imply you would be willing to sustain the effort," she observed with a raised eyebrow, and he looked back at her with one of his best cheeky smiles.

"You imply you might find that _agreeable_," he challenged, his tongue held saucily inside his cheek.

She gazed at him for a long, telling moment. Then her chin lifted slightly. "Implications are just that."

He grinned in a way that would have stopped the heart of any normal human woman. It was lucky the Vulcan was made of sterner stuff.

"As you say," he allowed, his blue eyes fairly rippling with the laughter trapped on the inside.

.

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	15. Chapter 15

**FIFTEEN**

.

.

"What's that?" Pell gasped, reaching out to touch the screen by her head.

"Ah-ah-ah - what'd I say about touching ma screens?" Trip warned.

Pell tightened her hold round his shoulders, leaning her head against the back of his neck. Being carried in a piggy-back by the relatively tall engineer, she suddenly felt a peace she hadn't known with her uncle.

"Are you tired, Pell?" T'Pol asked from her side.

She opened eyes she hadn't realised were closed. "No," she admitted. "I just…" She sighed unhappily and Trip stopped them in the middle of Engineering, ignoring the looks and stares of his team unaccustomed to seeing their chief in civvies with a small child on his back.

"I just think… If Daddy was here now, he might do this for me," she finished miserably. "It's not fair."

Trip let his head dip as he struggled with something to say. "No, it's not fair," he agreed. "But that's just how it is." He was surprised to hear T'Pol's voice quieter, almost gentle.

"You have your mother - and a cousin who is like a sister to you. Others are not so lucky," she informed her.

Pell turned her head and took in the Vulcan's beautiful face, so devoid of emotion.

"I wish I could be like you," Pell sniffed.

"What, you want pointy ears to go with your wrinkly nose?" Trip interrupted.

Pell actually smiled, before she leaned her head back against his neck. "No, just clever," she allowed. She lifted her chin to sit it on his shoulder. "Ok," she said grandly, "We've done Enjinearin. Now you can have a jumja stick." She unlaced her hands and patted his chest. "Turn around, slave," she instructed cheekily.

"I'll give you 'slave'," Trip grinned, bouncing her as he turned toward the door. T'Pol folded her arms, watching him carry her to the main door to Engineering, hearing them chuckle and tease and manipulate each other's will so easily.

She considered Nevro's words for the fiftieth time since she had left Sickbay. She only realised she had lost track of time when Trip's voice floated over the busy workspace.

"What do you call a slow Vulcan?"

Pell's voice joined in with a sunny chuckle: "The one with no jumja stick!"

T'Pol's eyebrow twitched and she crossed Engineering quickly, finding them at the door, grinning at her.

"Oh c'mon, T'Pol!" Trip gushed. "You were laughin' on the inside!"

"I can assure you I most certainly was not 'laughing on the inside'," she said stiffly, stepping out of the door and closing it behind them.

"Yeah, you were," Trip said firmly, turning in the direction of Pell's adopted quarters.

"And which part of my face gave the false impression that I was amused by your unsuccessful attempt to 'make me smile'?" she asked mildly.

"I saw you - you were rollin' around in there," Trip grinned widely, nodding to her head with his own.

"I fail to see how you could deduce that from my manner," she dismissed.

"Just admit it, you were dyin' of laughter - I could tell cos your eyebrow went like _that_," he asserted, his right hand coming up to indicate a two inch gap with his thumb and forefinger.

T'Pol just stared at him. "You take this to be 'a Vulcan smile'?" she asked, her voice icy in its curiosity.

"Hey, I take victory where I find it, darlin'," he shrugged, grabbing onto Pell again as they walked down the corridor.

"It is agreeable to inform you that you will not be showing us your 'Victory Dance' today, or indeed any time soon," T'Pol said quickly, making the off-duty Starfleet officer laugh exactly in that hearty way she found dangerously addictive.

"Hurry," Pell chided. "I have to find my jumja stick from the ship yet."

"We're going!" Trip protested. "Two females trying to dominate me in one day - how do I cope?" he moaned theatrically, making Pell giggle.

"Like a typical human male; you moan and fidget," T'Pol observed.

.

* * *

.

Nevro spent all morning with her ship in the company of both Trip and Hess, making adjustments, checking readouts, settling the two families back into the Bajoran lightship. It was almost afternoon by the time everything seemed ready.

"Well," Trip drawled, ducking out of the main door and handing his PADD to Hess, "that's the best condition she's going to be in without a proper Bajoran spacedock."

"You and your team have worked wonders. And in such a short space of time," Nevro sighed.

"We try," Trip nodded. "So you leaving straight away?"

"As soon as I can persuade Pell it's for the best."

"She being a problem?" Trip asked, surprised. "I gave her the tour of Engineering, like she wanted."

"It's not that, it's… Well, maybe it is," she allowed quietly.

Trip nodded to Hess and she disappeared. Trip looked around them and began to wander further from the repaired ship, Nevro following as she pondered something.

"She likes you - all of you. And she's been alone for so long, just Bajorans or the two families on the ship. This has been such an eye-opener for her, and for Metarh, too. I just wish she could stay longer."

"Well I'm sure the Cap'n wouldn't mind takin' you all the way to the Denorios belt, if that's still where you're plannin' to go," he offered.

"No. This isn't your duty, Commander, but I thank you for the gesture." She looked up slowly, appraising him. "May I… This will sound odd, but may I touch your ear?"

"My ear? Why? You got round ones, same as me," he shrugged, lost.

"It's something we do," she smiled.

"Then… sure, knock yourself out," he allowed.

She stepped closer and put her hand up, holding gently to the side and lobe of his left ear. She closed her eyes for a long moment before opening them again, taking a deep breath and letting go.

"As I suspected," she smiled. "You have a strong _pagh_, Commander. It must be how you put up with the stress of your job."

"Well I'm not quite sure what that is, but I'm glad it's a strong one," he allowed. "You're ship's all good to go, Miss Bahla. It's just up to you if you want to go this alone."

She gave a small smile. "As I have tried to explain, Commander, no Bajoran is alone. We have the Prophets. I hope one day you recover your own lost faith. No-one should be without it."

Trip looked at his feet, taking a deep breath. "Just between y'all and the wall? Sometimes I think I'm better off with a phase coupler and a screwdriver," he smiled.

"Again, thank you for all your hard work," she nodded, before she turned and walked from the cargo bay.

Trip turned and frowned to himself, scratching his head before he made for the ship, where Hess was waving to get his attention.

.

* * *

.

Malcolm carried his tray across the Mess Hall and sat between Hoshi and Travis slowly, nodding to them both.

"Hard week," Travis allowed. "I hear those Bajorans are leaving soon."

"Me too," Malcolm said, before picking up his napkin and draping it over his knee. He picked up his fork slowly and slid sly eyes to Hoshi. "That's not all I hear."

"What?" she asked, pausing her rice before it could reach her mouth. "If you've got gossip, don't withhold."

Malcolm simply smiled to himself, pushing his fork into his baked potato. "Who says I have gossip?" he twinkled.

Travis rolled his eyes. "Here we go. Ten minutes of 'I know something you don't know' before he'll come clean again. Well you'd better hurry up if you want me to be in awe of your intel-gathering skills - I'm on shift in half an hour and I need a shower yet."

"Alright, calm down," Malcolm grinned. "I hear the Bajorans are loathe to leave us so soon."

"That's not news," Hoshi tutted. "Everyone's noticed they like it here."

"Have they," Malcolm nodded. "And have they also noticed where Miss Bahla seems to be when the Captain's not on duty?"

"What?" Travis asked quickly, his eyes darting to Hoshi's in shock. "No, wait - they're just talking about space and Prophets and… stuff."

"Really. For the last five evenings? I've had senior officers giving tours and showing them the ship, I've had requests to let them into restricted areas, and I've even had Porthos running around like he owns the place. And in all that time Miss Bahla has not left the Captain's side. She was _even_ spotted walking Porthos around B Deck," Malcolm scoffed with a gleam in his eye.

"Oh Malcolm, don't read so much into it," Hoshi sighed. "Can't two grown-ups be friends without it meaning anything?"

"Why don't we ask our chief engineer that one?" Malcolm said, raising his voice as another officer approached the table.

"Ask me what?" Trip asked innocently, sitting opposite Malcolm.

Hoshi and Travis avoided his eyes quickly, looking at their lunch with sudden renewed interest.

"We were just wondering," Malcolm said lightly with a wisp of a smile, "if two grown-ups can be friends without it meaning anything."

"Meanin' anything?" Trip grunted, picking up his cutlery and going for the steak on his plate with the enthusiasm of a half-starved tiger. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? If someone's your friend, o' course it means something. It means you're friends," he pointed out tersely.

Malcolm gave a short chuckle, prompting Trip to look up.

"What'd I say?" he asked, lost.

"Nothing," Malcolm smiled sweetly. "For a moment there, you sounded like T'Pol."

Trip paused to put his elbow on the table, waving his fork at his friend. "Now don't start with me, Malcolm. I'm cranky and I just wanna eat."

"Start what?" Travis asked innocently, before Hoshi bombarded him with a tut and a look that suggested he had stepped into a bear trap.

"The Commander refuses to admit there's more going on than Vulcan neuropressure," Malcolm grinned, biting the potato from the end of his fork with gusto.

Trip huffed and set down his cutlery. "For the last time--"

"I know, I know," the tactical officer said quickly, raising his free hand, "you're just friends."

"Thank you," Trip snapped, picking up his knife and fork again.

Travis cleared his throat, looking at Hoshi. She sniffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, smiling brightly at Trip.

"So," she said cheerfully, "is the ship repaired?"

"Yep," Trip nodded, apparently more relaxed now the conversation had returned to solid ground. "They can leave whenever they want. Question is, _if_ they want," he added, taking a forkful of fish into his mouth.

"I told you," Malcolm nodded.

"Told 'em what?" Trip asked, his voice obscured by food.

"Miss Bahla's dragging her feet."

"What?" Trip asked, confused.

"Malcolm thinks Miss Bahla has been… enjoying the Captain's company," she explained slowly.

"Oh, that," Trip nodded, his face clearing. "I'll bet she has."

"It's _true_?" Travis gasped.

"Well she's been walking his dog and pretty much spending all her evenings at his place," Trip shrugged. "What else could they be doing?"

"Oh, I don't know… Vulcan neuropressure?" Malcolm smiled sweetly.

Trip's eyes narrowed dangerously and his jaw stuck out, but it didn't stop Hoshi and Travis laughing. Malcolm sat back, laughing too, until the Tannoy cut into their lunchtime.

"_Attention all hands, this is the Captain: the Bajoran lightship is preparing to leave us. If you need time to say goodbye, do it now_."

"Awww - why does he always call me away from the Mess Hall when it's proper meat?" Trip grumbled. "Just once I'd like him to do it when it's poncy Malcolm food."

.

.


	16. Chapter 16

**SIXTEEN**

.

The two families piled into the lightship, carrying food supplies and water. Nevro stood to one side, watching them and thanking the engineering crewmembers as they said their goodbyes to the tall blond lady.

She looked to the other side of the ship, watching Archer pretend he wasn't watching her. She waved him over, studying his weary expression.

"Don't be sad," she smiled. "We knew I would leave soon."

"Yes, we did," he allowed. "It's… been a pleasure, Nevro."

She gazed up at him, appreciating the soft eyes and worried look about him. "Thank you, Jonathan. For your help, and your time, and your consideration."

"Thanks for not giving Porthos that cheese hidden in the cupboard," he smiled. "A lesser woman would have given in."

She chuckled slightly. "He is lovely. Take care of him."

"Of course."

She put her hand to the gold strip in his uniform, tracing it across him to his shoulder. "And look after yourself."

"I'll try."

She grinned up at him and then pulled on the blue cotton. He leaned down and she kissed him, conscious of it being her last chance. At last she pushed him away, loathe to leave his eyes so soon.

"I wish we had more time," he managed, his voice barely a whisper. She opened her mouth to agree.

A squeal of delight shattered her thoughts and they looked up quickly to find Pell streaking out from the ship. They turned quickly, Nevro letting her hand drop, to see her fly into the chief engineer with a thump.

"Commander Tucker!" she peeled.

The Starfleet officer began to laugh, picking her up and sitting her on his arm. "Hey there, missy. You didn't think you could sneak off without saying goodbye, did you?" he grinned.

"You only came cos you want my jumja stick," she teased, poking him in the chest.

"Well, yeah, but I thought you wouldn't work that out. You're a smart one," he sighed ruefully, pulling at her nose. She wriggled and laughed, looking over his shoulder.

"Where's Miss T'Pol? I got something for her, too," she said. She looked at the faces of Hoshi and Malcolm, apparently surprised by her affection for the engineer.

"Oh, she's around somewhere," Trip allowed. "You all ready to go?"

"Yeah," she sighed sadly. "You sure you won't come with us?"

"Awww - you've got enough people in there already," he said warmly. "You look after your cousin, y'hear me? And your uncle and your mom. And if you need summin', you send a message to Starfleet with my name on it and _Enterprise_. They'll know how to find me."

"Yes sir," she grinned, tossing off a jaunty salute. "Now, slave, let me down so I can get my presents."

"Yes sir," he parroted, setting her on the ground again. She turned and tore off into the ship.

Hoshi pushed at Trip's shoulder and he looked at her. "What?"

"You sweet on her?" she teased.

"Give over, Hoshi. I should ask if you've said goodbye to Gree yet - you were quite cosy last time I heard," he shot back with a wicked smile.

Hoshi looked at Malcolm's quizzical expression. "He's joking, Lieutenant," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

Malcolm put his hands up. "It's only official intel if I hear it first, remember," he allowed.

She looked round him. "Oh, there they are - Gree and Metarh. I have to thank them for teaching me Bajoran." She skipped round them and disappeared.

Malcolm and Trip approached Nevro and the Captain, nodding politely.

"All ready then?" Malcolm asked.

"We are. Thank you for your patience with all those tours, Mister Reed," she smiled. "You have been most kind."

"Oh, think nothing of it, Miss Bahla," he replied with a smile. "It made a change from detail cleaning weapons systems."

She looked at Trip. "Please thank Ms Hess for me," she said.

"I will," he nodded. "Have a safe trip. And… I hope these Prophets of yours give you good news."

"Thank you," she grinned. "Where is T'Pol? I thought she would be here."

"Me too," Trip shrugged. "Maybe she just doesn't want to say goodbye."

"I apologise for my tardiness," came an arch interruption, and they turned to see T'Pol crossing the last few feet to them, hands behind her back. "Miss Bahla. I would like to extend hope that your encounter all you all looking for, and that one day you may return to this ship."

Nevro caught her eye, nodding, even as the other Starfleet officers blinked in surprise. Nevro looked up at Archer.

"Well then - Miss Bahla," Trip said cheerfully, "we'll say goodbye and wish you happy trails."

"Thank you," she nodded, not looking away from the Captain.

Trip laid a heavy hand on Malcolm's shoulder and inserted the other into the crook of T'Pol's elbow, backing away quickly. He let them go and the three of them turned away, heading toward the lightship.

"Here!" Pell called. "Here, Commander Tucker - your jumja stick!"

They turned and little Pell bumped into him, clutching a white bag upside down on a stick. She held it out to him bravely. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," he said, crouching down and taking it from her slowly. "Thank you, very much, Pell. This is the most excitin' thing anyone's ever given me."

She threw her arms round his neck, squeezing.

"Little air," he gasped. She chuckled and let him go, watching him straighten again. Then she looked at Malcolm.

"Hi," she said shyly, waving her fingers at him.

"Hello again, young miss," he grinned. "Have a safe journey."

"We will," she winked. She turned to the Vulcan, watching her with her hands behind her back. "Miss T'Pol, I got you something. Hope you like it."

T'Pol appeared mildly surprised as Pell stepped forward and put her hand out. T'Pol looked at Trip for a second before cupping both her hands under the child's with a marked lack of confidence. Pell pulled her hand away to reveal a tiny, shiny stone sparkling in T'Pol's hands.

"It is very striking," she observed, her eyes glued to it. She tilted her hands slightly to watch it sparkle. "What is it?"

"It's a hope stone," she grinned. "You only get them in the Fire Caves on Bajor. I had it so every day I could wish on it. I used to wish for my Daddy to come back."

T'Pol straightened, regarding the child with grave attention. "And you do not wish for this any more?"

"No. I wish… I can't tell you, it won't come true," she said shyly, but her little face turned red as she looked at Trip. He just blinked, oblivious.

The Vulcan noticed and turned back to look at Pell. "Am I to wish on this too?"

"Of course. Anything you like. I thought you might wish for…" She looked at the two men nervously, then waved the Vulcan down to her height. T'Pol obliged by crouching down, not even flinching as the girl cupped her hand round her ear and whispered into it.

T'Pol nodded. "It is not certain if two races can achieve this."

Pell watched her, biting her lip, then leaned forward and spoke again. This time it was loud enough for the two men to hear too.

"Sometimes it's ok to wish for things people say you're not allowed to have. My mom says that's how the Prophets let us explore the stars and invent lightships all that time ago. Cos we wished for stuff we weren't supposed to have."

T'Pol's head turned and the two females shared a long, understanding look.

Trip and Malcolm sniffed self-consciously and looked at each other, before studying their boots.

T'Pol straightened slowly, watching Pell carefully. "Wishing is an illogical mechanism for attempting to justify the baseless chase for the unattainable," the Vulcan said slowly.

Pell blinked up at her, and her smile turned a little devious.

"Wishing is the first step in thinking you want something after all. Then you make plans and you get it. We have to have it, or we go backwards and end up like palukoos again - just living and not getting any better." She folded her little arms.

The men grinned but made sure the Vulcan couldn't see it.

"I cannot fault your logic, or your choice of wish for me. It is an inestimable agreeable wish."

Pell grinned. "Well then - hope it comes true for you! See you later!"

"Safe journey, squirt," Trip winked. She waved at them all but T'Pol suddenly raised her hand, her fingers splitting down the middle in a very formal salute.

"Peace and long life, Bahla Pell," she said, and there could have been a tiny hint of warmth in there.

Pell stared, then nodded shyly. She turned, running to the ship behind her.

"So, T'Pol," Malcolm said quietly. "What did Pell think you should wish for?"

"I cannot reveal it. It would not come true," she said archly.

Malcolm and Trip shared a disbelieving glance before the tactical officer's gaze went over the engineer's shoulder. He nudged him meaningfully and Trip turned in time to see Archer kissing Nevro a goodbye.

"You know, he _did_ have a dicky shoulder last week," Malcolm said politely, managing to sound smug without the attached smile. "Maybe she's just neuropressuring his shoulder."

"Neuropressure my _ass_," Trip snorted. T'Pol caught his eye and his grin dropped like a stone. "Oh no, wait, that's not what I--"

"Commander," Malcolm interjected quickly.

Trip turned as Captain Archer approached, watching them all. "Well?" he asked. "Everyone out, they're about to leave."

Engineers and officers alike cleared the cargo bay, heading up to the Mess Hall in a rush. They barely had time to crowd to the window before the lightship gracefully appeared below the assembled Starfleet crew and single Vulcan.

"You think they'll be alright?" Malcolm worried, biting his lip. "I should have given them weapons."

"Their gods will protect them," T'Pol observed quietly.

"Shoulda given them weapons," Trip muttered.

They watched the ship turn as if it had all the time in the world, the sails unfurling as they strained to catch the tachyon eddies swirling invisibly around the two ships.

"And there they go," Archer sighed.

The ship began to distance itself from _Enterprise_, turning and pointing away from them.

"I hope she finds what she's looking for," the Captain added.

Malcolm regarded him in silence, before looking back to the window. Trip felt his face frozen in some expression of sympathy, wondering if he dare put his hand on his Captain's shoulder in front of so many assembled crew. He felt a sigh escape his nose and then his eyes settled on the glass. He realised he was looking directly at T'Pol's reflection. Her eyes were obviously focused on his reflection, and he suddenly felt for all the worlds like a diagram in a science book - one captioned '_Deduce the emotion from all assembled_'.

The ship disappeared into the blackness of space and they all stood back from the window. Engineers and lesser officers began to drift out of the Mess Hall. Trip decided he wasn't moving until Archer did, and it appeared Malcolm wasn't leaving until Trip's feet made a move. T'Pol appeared to be more interested in the three men and their tiny bubble of mixed emotions than in covering for her near-open curiosity.

It was silent, the four officers apparently still watching the stars. Standing so close to each other, they could not have felt further apart.

Archer looked down forlornly, catching sight of the covered jumja stick still in Trip's hand.

"You going to eat that or just carry it around like Porthos with my slipper?" he said, with an attempt to be cheerful.

Trip raised his hand, pulling the white bag off the top. Underneath was a glistening, dark purple rocketship-shaped mountain of candy-like perfection. His mouth dropped open and Archer turned to look at him and his prize properly. Trip couldn't see it, but the Captain's face almost registered happiness at the look on his engineer's face.

Malcolm was grinning too. "Well go on then. What's it like?"

Trip looked at him, then at Archer. He swung his gaze round until it encountered the Vulcan. She simply tilted her head slightly, her eyebrow slowly raising in apparent impatience.

He stuck his tongue out, sliding it over the jumja stick slowly. He brought his tongue back home, swishing it round a little as if tasting bourbon, before his eyes widened.

"It's great!" he judged with a grin, sticking his tongue out and licking it again. "We should - get these - for everyone - in the Mess," he added, around his eager ministrations.

Archer rolled his eyes. "Not everyone goes nuts for candy," he allowed. He patted his friend on the shoulder, then let go quickly as Trip pushed nearly the entire sweet treat in his mouth, sucking on it as if it were an addictive ice-lolly. "Don't go mad, Commander. You might get a sugar rush."

"If I can eat," Trip mumbled round a mouthful of juice, "Chef's pecan pie with the amount of sugar he fits into it, then I can," he licked it again, "sure take whatever this little thing can dole out."

"Right," Archer hedged dubiously, suddenly and vehemently wishing a stomach-ache from Hell on his chief engineer as he turned and walked out.

T'Pol regarded the Commander for a moment as he licked the jumja stick, before he shoved it back in his mouth. His eyes flicked up and he realised he was being watched.

"What?" he mouthed past the large dessert still inserted in his piehole. He raised his eyebrows at T'Pol. She stared back.

Eventually, she and Malcolm exchanged a glance that included an eye-roll and a sigh, respectively. Malcolm shook his head and turned, disappearing out of the Mess Hall. The Vulcan swayed herself round, her hands behind her back, about to follow.

"T'Pol," Trip called suddenly, and she turned back to find him sucking juice off his own lip.

"Yes, Commander?"

He appeared to be struggling to cope with the amount of juice he had in his mouth, but he did battle and swallowed it as fast as he dared. He held the stick out slightly. "Wanna lick?"

She regarded him for a long moment, conscious that he had no idea the tempting target in front of her that he thought was restricted to the sweet he was waving.

"C'mon, just one," he teased, his grin wide and stealing all the limelight from the strange new foodstuff.

She turned and strode up to him, pausing close enough to smell the stick, even by human standards. She eyed the jumja stick, then turned her face to his.

"You want me," she stated coldly, "to put my tongue on a food item you have already…" she paused, lost for words, it seemed, her gaze ranging up over Trip's shoulder for a second. "On a food item you have already _slobbered_ over?"

"What's the matter, afraid ya might catch something?" Trip grinned maliciously.

"The food has been through several bio-filters and checked by Phlox. There is no reason to suggest that _it_ harbours dangerous pathogens."

"So you're upset cos I licked it first."

"I am not upset. I am deterred by the knowledge that you have, as you say, transferred your own fluids to it."

"Do you have to put it like that, T'Pol? I only _licked_ it--"

"You managed to insert half of the jumja stick in your mouth, Commander. Twice," she warned, a stern eyebrow arching at him.

"And that's just one o' my many skills," he grinned proudly. "It really is good, y'know. You're missing a helluva thing, here."

"So I have come to realise."

She eyed him, and he was suddenly aware that she wasn't even looking at the stick as her eyes ran up to his hair and then down over his face. He blinked, his eyebrows hunkering down and both lips going out in a no-nonsense deep-thought manoeuvre that apparently caught her attention. She stared openly for a long moment, before tilting her head to sway it away from his gaze. His face cleared.

"So you want to try it, or not? C'mon, I promise I haven't slobbered anything on it that you haven't tried before," he dared with a cheeky wink.

Her mouth opened to remonstrate him, and he stood ready to argue her next point. But then it closed again. She looked around the Mess Hall carefully, finding them completely alone.

"Point taken," she acceded, and he gasped at her in shock.

She stepped closer, her nose coming up to the jumja stick. He pushed it out toward her and she paused, regarding it closely. Very slowly, she put her hand up to his wrist. She pulled his hand closer to her face. She made sure the jumja stick was as close to her as possible before turning her back to him slightly, pushing her tongue out and against the stick. She swept her mouth right up to the top before bringing it away.

"Sweet, isn't it?" he agreed. "We should swing by this Bajor planet and get us a truckload."

She swirled the exotic taste round her mouth, deciding it was extremely agreeable indeed. She pulled on his hand again, licking at the side of the odd new foodstuff and leaning away once more, considering the taste, tilting her head toward him in deference to not wishing to pull on his arm.

"I didn't know Vulcans had a sweet tooth," he teased, but his voice was quiet, soft. "Oop," he said quickly, noticing the burst of flavour had caused the same mouth-watering sensation in the science officer as it had in him the first time he had tried it. Without thinking he put his left hand up, his first two fingers resting on her jaw as his thumb wiped the dark fruit juice from her bottom lip.

She froze at his touch, and that was when he realised what he had done. He halted, wondering what his next move should be.

"Uh-oh," he moaned. "And there I go again, doing human things Vulcans don't agree with."

His guilty eyes and even more culpable, slanted eyebrows made the blood rush to her ears. He drew his hand back hurriedly, but she grasped his wrist and pushed both of his hands wider apart. He had time to draw in a breath to question her before she leaned against his front and kissed him.

An unexpectedly powerful minute later and she pulled her head back, looking up at him with large hazel eyes that suggested a hint of amusement.

"You assume too much, Commander," she advised. She let her hand drop from his left wrist, but he noticed she still had a tight hold on his other one.

"Yeah," he managed. "Must stop doing that. Leaves me lookin' like an ass." _Here we go. She's trying it out, and now she'll leave me here, with just my dessert and hopes around my ankles_, he thought sourly.

"It would be prudent to repair to crew quarters," she added quietly.

"Your place or mine?" he managed, his eyes whirling with surprise, disbelief - and enthusiasm.

"Mine."

"Don't tell me - we got Vulcan neuropressure to perform." _She's gonna__ let you down again, Trip_.

"I believe the correct response would be '_my ass_'," she replied thoughtfully.

His eyes widened as thoughts went through his head at at least warp five. His shocked blue eyes darted from hers to the sweet still in his captured hand. He cleared his throat, determined to sound as nonchalant as possible. "What about ma jumja stick?" he dared.

"Bring it," she commanded, letting go of him and turning away quickly. "We shall not let it go to waste."

Trip's grin broadened until it could have rivalled Phlox's at full stretch. He looked at the stick, licked it thoughtfully, and followed with a spring in his step.

"Hey, T'Pol!" he called wickedly, joining her at the doors. She paused to look up at him.

"Commander?"

"If you get to lick ma stick, what do I get to lick?" he asked with a childlike innocence that the wise Vulcan saw straight through.

She appeared to consider her answer, swaying her head to one side as she flicked her gaze up his front and eventually to his face.

"You may start with ears," she said simply. "After that, anything you wish." She swung round and walked out of the doors, heading off down the corridor.

Trip paused, closed his gaping mouth, and looked at the stick. He held onto it tightly as he tugged his uniform zip up a tiny way, nodded to himself, and followed her at a sedate pace.

Whistling.

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**FIN**

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_**And that's it! Hope you liked some part of it. Thanks for all your comments and suggestions, reviews and constructive criticism. I really appreciate your time and patience. Thanks!**_


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